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J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS. 


HTALES  FROM  THE 
DRAMATISTS 


RLC 


RRIS 


OUR  VOUi 
VOLUME  1 
WITH  PORTRAITS 
Y  "A'A 


T 


ALES  FROM  THE 
DRAMATISTS 


BY 


CHARLES    MORRIS 


IN    FOUR    VOLUMES 

VOLUME  I 
WITH    PORTRAITS 


PHILADELPHIA 

J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY 

1893 


(,35" 


COPYRIGHT,  1S92, 

BY 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 


PRINTED  BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY.  PHILADELPHIA. 


PEEFAOE. 


THAT  charming  literary  production  of  Charles 
and  Mary  Lamb,  "  Tales  from  Shakespeare,"  has 
had  the  good  fortune  to  survive  for  nearly  a  cen- 
tury the  modern  deluge  of  books,  and  still  remains 
so  popular  with  younger  readers  that  it  may  be 
looked  upon  as  a  genuine  juvenile  classic.  The 
stories  of  the  Shakespearian  comedies  and  trage- 
dies could  not  be  more  attractively  rendered,  and 
our  youthful  acquaintance  with  these  delightful 
"  Tales"  forms  a  most  agreeable  introduction  to  our 
mature  studies  of  the  plays  themselves. 

In  the  absence  of  any  work  dealing  similarly 
with  the  non-Shakespearian  drama,  the  writer  has 
ventured  to  put  into  story  form  some  of  the  best- 
known  plays  of  the  leading  English  dramatists, — 
not  with  a  remote  idea  of  such  a  happy  destiny 
as  has  fallen  to  the  lot  of  the  work  above  named, 
but  with  the  more  modest  hope  of  affording  some 
share  of  enjoyment  to  the  present  generation  of 
readers.  In  doing  so,  it  has  been  found  necessary 
to  cull  needfully  from  an  unweeded  garden,  whose 
healthful  plants  are  associated  with  many  of 
noisome  growth.  Numerous  writers  of  fame,  such 
as  Dryden,  Congreve,  Wycherly,  and  several  of 
1*  5 


0  PREFACE. 

the  prominent  Elizabethan  dramatists,  are  too 
licentious  or  otherwise  objectionable  in  style  to 
yield  wholesome  food  for  the  young  mind,  or  to 
be  adapted  to  the  modern  standard  of  taste  and 
morals.  The  elder  drama — few  of  whose  plays 
still  hold  the  stage — has,  therefore,  been  sparingly 
dealt  with,  our  selections  being  in  great  part  con- 
fined to  the  more  popular  plays  of  the  leading 
dramatists  of  the  eighteenth  and  early  nineteenth 
centuries. 

This  work  owes  only  its  suggestion  to  Lamb's 
"  Tales  from  Shakespeare."  It  makes  no  effort  to 
imitate  or  approach  in  style  that  deservedly  pop- 
ular work.  It  has,  indeed,  been  deemed  advisable 
to  deal  with  the  drama  in  a  less  juvenile  manner, 
and  thus  to  appeal  to  an  older  circle  of  readers, 
while  still  considering  the  tastes  and  demands  of 
the  young. 

It  is  hoped  that  the  lovers  of  the  living  drama 
may  find  it  possible  to  pass  an  occasional  pleasant 
hour  with  narrative  reproductions  of  some  of  the 
plays  which  they  have  enjoyed  upon  the  stage, 
and  that  the  aroma  of  these  flowers  of  the  dra- 
matic art  may  not  prove  to  have  been  entirely  dis- 
sipated by  depriving  them  of  their  stage  setting, 
and  putting  them  in  form  for  enjoyment  around 
the  evening  lamp. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

EVERY  MAN  IN  His  HUMOR 9 

By  Ben  Jonson. 
PHILASTER,  OR  LOVE  LIES  BLEEDING 44 

By  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 
A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS 68 

By  Philip  Massinger. 
VENICE  PRESERVED 99 

By  Thomas  Otway. 
THE  BUSYBODY 119 

By  Susanna  Centlivre. 
THE  BEAUX  STRATAGEM 151 

By  George  Farquhar. 
THE  BELLE'S  STRATAGEM 181 

By  Hannah  Cowley. 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


VOLUME  I. 

PAGE 

BEN  JOKSON Frontispiece. 

JOHN  FLETCHER 44 

THOMAS  OTWA.Y 99 

SI>AXNA  CENTLIVRE 119 


EVERY  MAN  IN  HIS  HUMOR, 

BY  BEN  JONSON. 


[Or  the  numerous  dramatic  authors  of  the 
Elizabethan  era,  contemporaries  of  Shakespeare, 
— including  Marlowe,  Jonson,  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher,  Webster,  Massinger,  Ford,  and  half  a 
score  of  others — very  few  have  left  works  of  suffi- 
cient dramatic  merit  to  survive  to  our  time.  "With 
the  exception  of  a  single  play  of  Massinger's,  and 
a  very  rare  production  of  the  best  of  Jonson's 
and  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  works,  all  this 
great  array  of  dramas  has  vanished  from  that 
stage  to  which  the  plays  of  Shakespeare  are 
among  the  most  welcome  visitants.  This  is 
by  no  means  wholly  due  to  lack  of  dramatic 
strength.  The  powerful  plays  of  Marlowe  are  too 
primitive  in  style,  those  of  Webster  too  revolting 
in  the  cruelty  of  their  incidents,  for  modern  repro- 
duction, while  the  licentiousness  which  pervades 
some  of  the  best  works  of  other  authors  unfits 
them  for  the  nineteenth-century  taste.  We,  there- 
fore, confine  our  selections  from  the  dramatists  of 
this  era  to  those  whose  works  have  been  produced 
within  the  i-ecent  period. 

9 


10  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

Ben  Jonson,  in  several  respects  the  ablest  of 
Shakespeare's  contemporary  playwrights,  was 
born  at  Westminster,  England,  about  1573,  was 
educated  at  Westminster  and  Cambridge,  and  en- 
joyed the  honor  of  being  one  of  the  most  learned 
scholars  of  his  day.  His  life  was  a  varied  one. 
Leaving  Cambridge  in  his  sixteenth  year,  poverty 
made  him  a  bricklayer's  apprentice,  distaste  for 
which  occupation  soon  made  him  a  soldier.  On 
his  return  from  the  Netherlands,  where  he  had 
seen  some  service,  he  joined  a  company  of  actors, 
killed  one  of  them  in  a  duel,  and  narrowly  escaped 
being  hanged.  At  a  later  date  he  was  again 
thrown  into  prison,  with  his  fellow-dramatists, 
Chapman  and  Marston,  on  the  charge  of  libel. 
The  three  were  condemned  to  lose  their  ears  and 
noses,  but  escaped  through  Jonson's  influence  at 
court.  He  had  before  this  become  a  favorite  dra- 
matist, his  first  play,  "  Every  Man  in  his  Humor," 
produced  in  1598,  having  given  him  a  high  repu- 
tation. In  addition  to  his  plays,  he  wrote,  for  the 
entertainment  of  the  Court,  numerous  masques, 
many  of  which  display  diversified  knowledge, 
sprightly  fancy,  and  fertile  invention  ;  and  a  large 
number  of  poems,  among  which  are  some  of  the 
most  charming  bits  of  lyric  fancy  in  the  English 
language.  He  was  made  poet-laureate  by  James 
I.,  and  was  a  leading  spirit  in  the  literary  society 
of  that  period,  being  a  familiar  associate  and  ap- 
parently a  close  friend  of  Shakespeare.  He  died 
in  1637,  and  was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey, 


EVERY   MAN    IN    HIS    HUMOR.  11 

his  gravestone  bearing  the  eloquent  inscription, 
"  O  rare  Ben  Jonson  !" 

The  plays  of  Jonson,  while  full  of  wit  and  humor 
and  replete  with  amusing  situations,  are  over- 
weighted with  material,  and  are  lacking  in  nat- 
uralness and  interest  of  plot,  and  in  life-like 
power  of  characterization.  His  personages  are 
types  of  character  rather  than  individual  men, 
and  his  plots  mainly  threads  of  satirical  incident 
for  the  display  of  these  types.  Of  his  plays,  only 
four  are  highly  esteemed,  "  Every  Man  in  his 
Humor,"  "  The  Alchemist,"  "  Volpone,  or  the  Fox," 
and  "  Epiccene,  or  the  Silent  Woman."  These  are 
rather  compounds  of  intrigue  than  stories  of  con- 
secutive interest.  "  Every  Man  in  his  Humor," 
which  we  select  for  treatment,  is  feeble  as  a  story, 
its  principal  interest  being  in  its  characters,  par- 
ticularly that  of  Captain  Bobadil,  perhaps  the 
most  famous  example  of  the  boasting  coward  in 
the  literature  of  the  stage.] 

In  the  sixteenth  century  there  were  exacting 
fathers  and  graceless  sons,  as  there  are  in  the 
nineteenth,  and  Mr.  Knowell,  a  London  gentle- 
man, and  his  son  Edward,  were  of  them.  The 
son  had  been  a  close  student,  and  was  supposed 
still  to  be  so  by  his  father ;  but,  in  truth,  the  at- 
tractions of  the  metropolis  had  led  him  into  ir- 
regular ways,  which  he  diligently  concealed  from 
his  beguiled  parent.  In  these  loose  habits  he 
was  aided  by  his  servant  Brainwonn,  a  cunning 


12  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

rogue.  Young  Knowell's  companion  in  his  es- 
capades was  a  gentleman  named  Wellbred,  who, 
like  himself,  had  until  recently  been  of  good 
repute,  but  had  fallen  into  dissolute  habits,  spend- 
ing his  time  with  wild  associates  and  in  revels  by 
no  means  to  his  credit. 

Visiting  at  Mr.  Knowell's  house  was  a  nephew 
of  his  named  Stephen,  of  country  birth  and  train- 
ing, and  such  a  consummate  ass  that  he  was  the 
laughing-stock  of  all  who  knew  him.  It  was  his 
desire  to  pose  as  a  gentleman,  to  do  which  he  sup- 
posed it  was  only  necessary  to  have  a  knowledge 
of  hunting  and  hawking  terms,  to  boast  of  his 
wealth,  and  to  hold  himself  ready  to  quarrel  on 
the  slightest  pretence.  So  full  of  misplaced  valor 
was  he,  indeed,  that  he  got  into  a  quarrel  with  a 
servant  who  came  with  a  letter  to  his  uncle's 
house,  and  whose  respectful  answers  he  mistook 
for  insolence.  He  acted  with  such  foolish  violence 
that  Mr.  Knowell,  ashamed  of  his  conduct,  in  the 
end  ordered  him  to  leave  the  room  if  he  could  not 
behave  himself  with  more  sense  and  discretion. 

The  letter  was  addressed  "  To  Master  Edward 
Knowell,"  and  evidently  intended  for  the  son,  but 
as  the  old  gentleman  was  named  Edward  also,  and 
was  curious  to  see  some  of  his  son's  correspond- 
ence with  Wellbred, — whom  the  servant  told  him 
had  sent  it, — he  opened  and  read  it. 

The  result  was  an  unpleasant  surprise,  and  a 
new  revelation  of  the  character  of  Mr.  Wellbred, 
whose  modest  and  discreet  demeanor  his  son  had 


EVERY    MAX     IX     HIS     HOIOR.  13 

praised  in  the  highest  terms.  The  missive,  which 
was  couched  in  very  licentious  language,  bade 
Knowell  to  leave  his  vigilant  father  to  the  task 
of  numbering  the  green  apricots  on  his  garden 
wall,  and  to  come  over  to  the  old  Jewry,  when- 
there  was  some  rare  sport  in  pickle  for  him.  The 
writer  had  come  across  a  pair  of  odd  fellows,  the 
one  a  rhymer,  the  other  of  indescribable  charac- 
ter, from  whom  he  hoped  they  could  extract  some 
rare  fun. 

Mr.  Knowell  read  this  epistle  in  deep  astonish- 
ment. "  Why,  what  unhallowed  ruffian  would 
have  written  in  such  a  scurrilous  manner  to  a 
friend !"  he  exclaimed.  "  But  I  perceive  that  af- 
fection makes  a  fool  of  any  man  too  much  the 
father." — •'  Brain  worm  !" 

Young  Knowell's  servant  quickly  answered  this 
summons. 

u  Is  the  fellow  gone  that  brought  this  letter  ?" 
asked  the  old  gentleman. 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  pretty  while  since.", 

"  Your  young  master  spake  not  with  him  ?" 

"  No.  sir,  he  saw  him  not." 

li  Take  you  this  letter  and  deliver  it  to  my  son  ; 
but  with  no  notice  that  I  have  opened  it,  on  your 
life." 

"  Oh,  Lord,  sir,  that  were  a  jest,  indeed !"  an- 
swered Brain  worm,  with  an  expression  of  deep 
innocence,  as  he  left  the  room  with  the  letter. 

Yet  the  virtuous  Brainworm  had  his  own  idea 
of  the  duty  of  a  faithful  servant.  On  handing 
2 


14  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

the  letter  to  his  young  master,  he  did  not  hesi 
tate  to  tell  him  that  his  father  had  opened  and 
read  it. 

"  How  looked  he  ?  was  he  angry,  or  pleased  ?" 
"  Nay,  sir,  I  saw  him  not  open  it." 
"  Then  how  know  you  that  he  did  so  ?" 
'•  Marry,  sir,  because  he  charged  me,  on  my  life, 
to  tell  nobody  that  he  had  opened  it;  which,  un- 
less he  had  done,  he  would  never  fear  to  have  it 
revealed." 

"  That's  true.  I  thank  you,  Brainworm." 
The  young  man  read  the  letter  with  mingled 
doubt  and  laughter, — doubt  as  to  how  his  father 
would  take  it ;  laughter  as  to  the  comedy  of  the 
situation.  He  was  too  fond  of  sport,  however,  to 
lose  that  which  his  friend  offered  him,  even  at  the 
risk  of  his  father's  displeasure,  and  decided  that 
he  would  add  to  Wellbred's  pair  of  odd  customers 
a  third,  his  worthy  cousin,  Stephen. 

The  latter  entered  while  Knowell  was  still 
laughing  over  the  epistle,  vowing  that  he  would 
cudgel  the  servant  who  had  insulted  him.  He 
looked  sourly  at  his  amused  cousin,  fancying  at 
first  that  he  was  the  object  of  his  mirth. 

"  Oh,  now  I  see  what  he  laughs  at !"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  It  was  at  something  in  that  letter. — 

By  this  good  light,  an  he  had  laughed  at  me " 

"  How  now,  Cousin  Stephen,  melancholy  ?" 
asked  Knowell. 

"  Yes,  a  little :  I  thought  you  had  laughed  at 
me,  cousin." 


EVERY  MAN    IN    HIS    HUMOR.  15 

"  Why,  what  an  I  had,  coz  ?  what  would  you 
have  done  ?" 

"  By  this  light,  I  would  have  told  mine  uncle." 

"  Nay,  if  you  would  have  told  your  uncle,  I  did 
laugh  at  you,  coz." 

"  Did  you,  indeed  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed." 

"  Why,  then " 

"  What  then  ?"  asked  Knowell,  with  an  assumed 
fierceness. 

"  I  am  satisfied ;  it  is  sufficient." 

Knowell  laughed  again  at  this  lame  conclusion 
to  a  warlike  preface,  and  in  the  end  invited  Stephen 
to  accompany  him  on  a  visit  to  a  friend  in  the 
•Old  Jewry,  an  invitation  which  the  country  cousin 
readily  accepted. 

Meanwhile  the  old  gentleman  had  taken  deep 
thought  about  the  new  light  which  had  been 
thrown  on  his  son's  pursuits.  Sorry  as  he  was  to 
find  him  led  into  loose  ways,  he  was  wise  enough 
to  perceive  that  violent  measures  of  repression 
might  do  more  harm  than  good,  and  concluded 
that  it  was  safer  to  win  him  by  love  from  evil 
ways  than  to  seek  to  drive  him  into  virtue  by  fear. 
He  resolved  to  follow  him  to  the  city,  with  the 
hope  that  something  might  happen  to  aid  his  pur- 
poses. 

This  design  became  known  to  Brainworm,  and 
he,  out  of  loyalty  to  his  young  master,  determined 
to  throw  himself  in  disguise  in  the  old  gentleman's 
way,  and  defeat  his  plans  if  possible.  The  disguise 


16  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

he  assumed  was  that  of  a  maimed  soldier,  and  thua 
apparelled  he  stationed  himself  in  the  open  ground 
of  Moorfields,  which  lay  between  Mr.  Knowell's 
house  and  the  city. 

The  disguised  servant,  however,  first  encountered 
his  young  master  and  Stephen,  whom  he  would 
have  preferred  to  avoid,  through  fear  of  discovery. 
But  as  he  could  not  escape  unseen,  he  came  boldly 
forward,  with  a  long  story  of  his  services  in  the 
wars,  his  present  poverty,  and  an  offer  to  sell 
his  rapier,  which  he  vowed  was  a  pure  Toledo. 
Stephen,  whose  only  weapon  at  present  was  a 
cudgel,  was  at  once  eager  to  buy  it,  the  more  so 
as  Knowell  dissuaded  him. 

"  Come,  come,  you  shall  not  buy  it,"  exclaimed 
Knowell,  who  had  not  much  faith  in  its  Toledo 
qualities.  "  Hold,  there's  a  shilling,  fellow ;  take 
your  rapier." 

"  Why,  but  I  will  buy  it  now,  because  you  say 
so,"  persisted  the  obstinate  fool;  "and  there's 
another  shilling,  fellow ;  I  scorn  to  be  outbidden. 
— What,  shall  I  walk  with  a  cudgel,  like  Higgin- 
bottom,  and  may  have  a  rapier  for  money !" 

"  You  may  buy  one  in  the  city," 

"Tut!  I'll  buy  this  in  the  field,  so  I  will.  I 
have  a  mind  to  it  because  'tis  a  field  rapier.  Tell 
me  your  lowest  price." 

"  Come  away ;  you  are  a  fool." 

"  Friend,  I  am  a  fool,  that's  granted,"  replied 
Stephen;  "but  I'll  have  it,  for  that  word's  sake. 
Follow  me  for  your  money." 


EVERY   MAN    IX    HIS    HUMOR.  17 

"  At  your  service,  sir,"  answered  Brainworm. 

The  cunning  rogue,  felicitating  himself  on  hav- 
ing deceived  his  master,  followed  them,  sold 
Stephen  the  worthless  blade  for  a  round  sum,  and 
returned  to  Moorfields  in  time  to  meet  the  elder 
Knowell,  who  had  appeared  during  his  absence. 
Still  pretending  to  be  a  poverty-stricken  old  sol- 
dier, he  begged  of  him  so  importunately,  that  Mr. 
Knowell  took  him  severely  to  task  for  conduct 
unbecoming  one  who  had  served  in  the  wars. 

o 

"  What's  your  name  ?"  he  asked  in  conclusion. 

"Please  you,  Fitz-Sword,  sir." 

"  If  I  should  take  you  into  my  service,  would 
you  be  honest,  just,  and  true  ?" 

"  Sir,  by  the  honor  of  a  soldier " 

"Nay,  nay.  I  like  not  these  affected  oaths. 
Speak  plainly,  man." 

"  I  wish  my  fortunes  were  as  happy  as  my  ser- 
vice should  be  honest." 

'•  Well,  follow  me ;  I'll  prove  if  your  deeds  are 
in  proportion  to  your  words." 

He  walked  on,  while  Brainworm  remained  be- 
hind to  relieve  himself  of  laughter,  with  which, 
as  he  said,  "  never  was  bottle  or  bagpipe  fuller." 

"  Was  there  ever  seen  a  fox  in  years  to  betray 
himself  thus?"  he  exclaimed.  "Now  I  shall  be 
possessed  of  all  his  counsels ;  and,  through  rne, 
my  young  master.  Oh,  I  shall  abuse  him  intoler- 
ably! This  small  piece  of  service  will  bring  him 
clean  out  of  love  with  the  soldier  forever.  Why, 
this  is  better  than  to  have  stayed  his  journey! 
yOI,.  T.__6  2* 


18  TALES   FROM    THE    DRAMATISTS. 

Well,  I'll  follow  him.  Oh,  how  I  long  to  bo  em- 
ployed !" 

Leaving  the  Knowells,  father  and  son,  to  their 
plans  and  purposes,  and  Brainworm  to  his  devices, 
we  must  now  precede  them  to  their  destination, 
and  introduce  to  the  reader  some  others  of  the 
characters  of  our  story. 

Two  of  these  were  the  pair  of  oddities  of  whom 
Wellbred  had  spoken,  the  one  being  a  boastful 
soldier  named  Captain  Bobadil,  the  other  a  foolish 
fellow  named  Matthew,  who  had  made  himself  a 
worshipper  of  the  brave-tongued  captain.  This 
heroic  boaster  was  reduced  by  circumstances  to 
dwell  in  the  humble  residence  of  Oliver  Cob,  a 
water-carrier, — a  fact  which  he  was  by  no  means 
anxious  to  have  known.  Yet,  humble  as  his  lodg- 
ings were,  he  did  not  demean  himself  by  paying 
for  them,  but,  on  the  contrary,  had  borrowed  forty 
shillings  of  Tib,  the  water-bearer's  wife,  paying 
his  score  in  such  dainty  oaths  as,  "  By  the  foot  of 
Pharaoh  !"  "  By  the  body  of  me !"  "  As  I  am  a 
gentleman  and  a  soldier!"  and  the  like,  a  style  of 
conversation  which  his  worthy  host  heard  with 
awe  and  respect. 

Matthew,  whose  acquaintance  with  the  captain 
was  of  recent  date,  sought  him  in  these  humble 
quarters,  and  was  surprised  to  find  his  soldierly 
friend  so  inadequately  lodged.  Yet  he  concealed 
his  opinion,  saying, — 

"  Trust  me,  you  have  an  exceeding  fine  lodging 
here ;  very  neat  and  private." 


EVERT  MAN    IN    HIS    HUMOR.  19 

"  True,  the  cabin  is  convenient,"  answered  Boba- 
dil,  with  a  lordly  air.  u  Yet,  as  I  would  not  be  too 
popular,  and  generally  visited,  I  pray  you  to  pos- 
sess no  gentleman  of  our  acquaintance  with  notice 
of  my  lodging." 

"  Who.  I,  sir  ?  no." 

"  I  confess  I  love  a  cleanly  and  quiet  privacy, 
above  all  the  tumult  and  roar  of  fortune. — What 
new  book  have  you  there  ?  What !  Go  by, 
Ilieronymo  ?" 

"  Is  it  not  well  penned  ?" 

"  Well  penned  !  I  would  fain  see  all  the  poets 
of  these  times  pen  such  another  play  as  that  was. 
Out  on  them,  they  are  the  most  shallow,  pitiful, 
barren  fellows  that  live  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth  !" 

While  Bobadil  dressed  for  the  street,  Matthew 
read  him  some  passages  from  the  play  thus  highly 
lauded,  ending  with  certain  verses  of  his  own,  which 
his  host  saw  fit  to  commend.  In  the  conversation 
which  ensued,  Matthew  told  the  captain  of  a 
quarrel  he  had  recently  had  with  Squire  Down- 
right, Mr.  Wellbred's  half-brother,  a  choleric  fel- 
low, who  had  ended  by  threatening  to  cudgel 
him. 

"  By  the  foot  of  Pharaoh,  you  shall  chartel 
him !"  exclaimed  Bobadil.  "  I'll  show  you  a  trick 
or  two ;  you  shall  kill  him  at  pleasure ;  the  first 
etoccata,  if  you  will,  by  this  air !" 

Bobadil  thereupon  bade  his  hostess  bring  them 
a  pair  of  bed-staves,  and  gave  his  guest  a  lesson 


20  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

in  fencing,  seeking  to  teach  him  a  certain  thrust 
that  was  sure  death.  In  the  end  he  dropped  his 
pupil  as  tediously  awkward. 

"  Come,  we'll  go  to  some  tavern,  and  have  a  bit ; 
and  then  I  will  teach  you  your  trick.  Why,  I 
will  learn  you  by  the  true  judgment  of  the  eye, 
hand,  and  foot,  to  control  any  enemy's  point  in 
the  world.  Should  your  enemy  confront  you  with 
a  pistol,  'twere  nothing,  by  this  hand !  you  should, 
by  the  same  rule,  control  his  bullet,  in  a  line,  ex- 
cept it  were  hailshot,  and  spread. — What  money 
have  you  about  you,  Master  Matthew  ?" 

"  Faith,  I  have  not  past  a  two  shillings,  or  so." 

"  "Pis  somewhat  with  the  least ;  but  come  ;  we 
will  have  a  bunch  of  radish  and  salt  to  taste  our 
wine,  and  a  pipe  of  tobacco  to  close  the  orifice 
of  the  stomach  ;  and  then  we'll  call  to  keep  our 
appointment  with  young  Wellbred  :  perhaps  we 
shall  meet  the  Corydon  his  brother  there,  and  put 
him  to  the  question." 

The  destination  of  these  worthies,  in  their 
search  for  Mr.  Wellbred,  was  the  house  of  his 
brother-in-law,  Mr.  Kitely,  a  wealthy  merchant, 
with  whom  the  young  man  lodged.  The  association 
between  Kitely  and  his  guest  was  far  from  an 
agreeable  one.  Wellbred,  from  being  a  man  of  the 
most  correct  deportment,  had  fallen  into  an  irregu- 
lar course  of  life,  much  to  the  annoyance  of  the 
worthy  merchant.  He  complained  of  this  to  Down- 
right, the  young  man's  half-brother,  but  got  little 
satisfaction  from  that  plain-spoken  individual. 


EVERY    MAN    IX    HIS    HUMOR.  21 

"  I  know  not  what  I  should  say  to  him,  in  the 
whole  world,"  exclaimed  Downright.  "  He  values 
me  at  a  cracked  three-farthings,  for  aught  I  see. 
It  will  never  out  of  the  flesh  that's  bred  in  the 
bone.  Counsel  to  him  is  as  good  as  a  shoulder  of 
mutton  to  a  sick  horse.  Let  him  spend  and  dom- 
ineer till  his  heart  ache ;  an  he  think  to  be  re- 
lieved by  me,  when  he  is  got  into  one  o'  your  city 
pounds,  he  has  got  the  wrong  sow  by  the  ear,  i' 
faith,  and  claps  his  dish  at  the  wrong  man's  door. 
I'll  lay  my  hand  on  my  half-penny,  ere  I  part 
with  it  to  fetch  him  out." 

Mr.  Kitely's  family,  in  addition  to  those  named, 
consisted  of  his  newly-married  wife,  of  whom  he 
was  inordinately  jealous,  and  her  sister  Bridget. 
The  latter  young  lady  counted  Matthew  among 
her  lovers,  his  mode  of  courtship  consisting  in 
writing  her  verses  by  the  rood,  little  of  which 
the  fair  maiden  ever  saw.  Matthew's  poetry,  on 
which  he  plumed  himself  greatly,  was  more  bor- 
rowed than  original,  he  laying  all  the  poets  of  the 
time  under  contribution  to  supply  his  stock  of 
love-verses. 

It  was  at  Mr.  Kitely's  house  that  Matthew  and 
Captain  Bobadil  called,  after  partaking  of  their 
wine  and  tobacco,  to  inquire  for  Mr.  Wellbred. 
The  young  gentleman  was  not  at  home,  as  Kitely 
assured  them,  but  the  boastful  Bobadil  managed 
to  get  into  a  quarrel  with  the  choleric  Downright, 
who  would  have  cudgelled  him  on  the  spot  had 
not  Kitely  withheld  him.  Bobadil  had  called  him 


22  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

a  scavenger,  an  epithet  which  the  hot-tempered 
gentleman  could  not  stomach,  and  treasured  up 
for  repayment  with  interest  on  a  future  occasion. 

"  These  are  my  brother's  consorts,  these !"  he  ex- 
claimed, indignantly.  "  These  are  his  comrades, 
his  walking  mates  !  he's  a  gallant,  a  cavaliero,  too, 
right  hangman  cut !  Let  me  not  live,  an  I  could 
not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  swinge  the  whole  gang 
of  'em,  one  after  another,  and  begin  with  him 
first !  He  shall  hear  on't,  and  that  tightly,  too, 
an  I  live,  i'  faith !" 

The  various  personages  whom  we  have  intro- 
duced to  the  reader  had,  as  will  be  perceived, 
each  his  peculiar  humor,  or  turn  of  mind.  Of 
these  none  was  more  persistent  than  the  jealousy 
of  the  worthy  merchant,  Mr.  Kitely.  Every 
word  spoken  by  his  wife,  whether  in  affection  or 
otherwise,  was  tortured  by  his  diseased  imagina- 
tion into  new  food  for  jealousy,  which  vile  passion 
possessed  him  like  a  fever. 

"  What  ails  you,  sweetheart  ?"  she  asked  him, 
surprised  by  his  abstracted  manner.  "Are  you 
not  well  ?" 

"  In  truth,  my  head  aches  extremely  of  a  sud- 
den," he  replied. 

"Alas!  how  it  burns!"  she  said,  putting  her 
hand  to  his  forehead.  "  Keep  you  warm,  dear ; 
good  truth,  it  is  this  new  disease  there's  a  num- 
ber are  troubled  with.  For  love's  sake,  sweet- 
heart, come  in,  out  of  the  air." 

"  A  new  disease !"  he  soliloquized,  after  she  had 


EVERY   MAX    IN    HIS    IIUMOR.  2^5 

left  him.  "Iknow  not,  new  or  old;  but  like  a 
pestilence  it  does  infect  the  houses  of  the  bruin. 
First  it  begins  to  work  upon  the  phantasy ;  and 
from  thence,  sends  like  contagion  to  the  memory ; 
till  not  a  thought  or  motion  in  the  mind  i.s  free 
from  the  black  poison  of  suspicion.  What  misery 
'tis  to  know  this,  or,  knowing  it,  to  be  its  abject 
victim !  Well,  well,  I'll  strive  again,  in  spite  of 
this  black  cloud,  to  be  myself,  and  shake  the  fever 
off  that  thus  shakes  me." 

Leaving  him  to  his  vain  endeavor  to  over- 
come his  baseless  jealousy,  we  must  betake  our- 
selves to  the  Windmill  Tavern,  in  the  Old  Jewry, 
a  favorite  resort,  where  Matthew  and  Bobadil 
found  Wellbred,  and  where,  in  the  midst  of 
their  conversation,  young  Knowell  and  Stephen 
entered. 

"Ned  Knowell!  by  my  soul,  welcome,"  ex- 
claimed Wellbred.  "  How  dost  thou,  sweet  spirit, 
my  genius  ?  These  be  the  two  I  writ  to  thee  of. 
Why,  what  drowsy  humor  holds  you  now  ?  Why 
do  you  not  speak  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  are  a  fine  gallant,"  answered  Know- 
ell, testily.  "  You  sent  me  a  rare  letter." 

"  Why,  was  it  not  rare  ?" 

"  Ay,  and  your  messenger  as  well.  The  fellow 
mistook  my  father  for  me,  and  gave  him  a  full 
view  of  your  flourishing  style,  some  hour  before  I 
saw  it." 

"Come,  come,  you  jest! — Why,  what  a  dull 
slave  ! — Well,  what  said  he  to  it  ?" 


24  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

';  I  know  not  what;  but  I  have  a  shrewd  guess 
what  be  thought." 

"  What,  what  ?" 

"  Marry,  that  thou  art  some  strange,  dissolute 
young  fellow,  and  I — a  grain  or  two  better,  for 
keeping  you  company." 

"  Tut !  that  thought  is  like  the  moon  in  her  last 
quarter,  'twill  change  shortly.  But  I  pray  thee 
be  acquainted  with  my  two  hang-by's  here ;  thou 
wilt  take  exceeding  pleasure  in  them,  if  thou 
nearest  them  once  go ;  my  wind  instruments ;  I'll 
wind  them  up. — But  what  strange  piece  of  silence 
is  this,  the  sign  of  the  dumb  man  ?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  a  kinsman  of  mine,"  answered 
Knowell,  with  a  laugh.  "  One  that  may  make 
your  music  the  fuller,  an  he  please.  He  has  his 
humor,  sir." 

"  What  is't,  what  is't?" 

"  Faith,  I'll  leave  him  to  the  mercy  of  your 
search.  If  you  can  take  him,  so !" 

It  was  not  long  before  the  two  fun-loving 
worthies  had  their  wind  instruments  in  full  play, 
Bobadil  boasting,  Matthew  retailing  his  poetry, 
and  Stephen  as  melancholy  as  a  raw  oyster.  This 
humor  his  jesting  cousin  had  advised  him  to  take, 
as  the  mark  of  a  true  gentleman,  and  the  country 
gull  played  it  at  full  pitch. 

"  Truly,  I  am  mightily  given  to  melancholy," 
he  said,  with  a  sigh,  to  Matthew. 

"  It's  your  only  fine  humor,  sir,"  answered 
Matthew.  "  I  am  melancholy  myself,  divers  times, 


EVERY   MAN    IN    HIS    HUMOR.  2.") 

sir ;  and  then  I  do  no  more  but  take  pen  and 
paper,  and  overflow  you  half  a  score  or  a  dozen 
of  sonnets,  at  a  sitting." 

"  Truly,  sir,  I  love  such  things  out  of  measure." 

"  Why,  I  pray  you,  sir,  make  use  of  my  study ; 
it's  at  your  service." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir ;  have  you  a  stool  there,  to  be 
melancholy  upon  ?" 

"  That  I  have ;  and  some  papers  of  my  own 
doing,  that  you'll  say  there's  some  sparks  of  wit 
in." 

"  Cousin,  is  it  well  ?"  asked  Stephen,  in  an  aside. 
"  Am  I  melancholy  enough  ?" 

"Ay,  excellent,"  answered  Knowell. 

"Captain  Bobadil,  why  muse  you  so?"  asked 
Wellbred. 

"  He  is  melancholy,  too,"  suggested  Knowell. 

"  Faith,  sir,  I  was  thinking  of  a  most  honorable 
piece  of  service,  was  performed  to-morrow,  being 
St.  Mark's  day,  shall  be  some  ten  years,  now," 
answered  the  captain. 

This  was  the  prelude  to  an  extended  bit  of 
boasting,  in  which  Bodadil  performed  miracles  of 
valor  that  would  have  made  any  other  man  a 
commander-in-chief.  He  ended  by  showing  his 
sword,  which  he  said  was  a  Toledo,  and  laughed 
scornfully  at  the  Toledo  blade  with  which  Stephen 
sought  to  match  it. 

"A  Fleming,  by  heaven!"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
could  buy  a  thousand  such  for  a  guilder  apiece." 

"  I  told  you  so,  cousin,"  said  Knowell. 

B  3 


Zb  TALES   FROM    THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"  The  coney-catching  rascal !"  cried  Stephen, 
fiercely.  "  I  could  eat  the  very  hilts  for  anger. 
Would  that  I  had  the  scurvy  dog  here,  I'd  show 
him  the  humor  of  a  gentleman !" 

He  had  his  wish  much  sooner  than  he  expected, 
for  Brain  worm  entered  at  that  instant,  still  in  dis- 
guise. 

"A  miracle,  cousin ;  look  here,  look  here  !"  ex- 
claimed Knowell. 

"  Oh — od's  lid  !  By  your  leave,  do  you  know 
me,  sir  ?"  blustered  Stephen. 

"  Ay,  sir,  I  know  you  by  sight." 

"  You  sold  me  a  rapier,  did  you  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  marry  did  I,  sir." 

"  You  said  it  was  a  Toledo,  ha  ?" 

"  True,  I  did  so." 

"  But  it  is  none." 

"  JSTo,  sir,  I  confess  it ;  it  is  none." 

"  Do  you  confess  it  ?  Gentlemen,  bear  witness, 
he  has  confessed  it !  Od's  will,  and  you  had  not 
confessed  it " 

"  Oh,  cousin,  forbear,  forbear !" 

"  Nay,  I  have  done. — Yet,  by  his  leave,  he  is  a 
rascal,  under  his  favor,  do  you  see." 

"  Ay,  by  his  leave,  he  is,  and  under  favor :  a 
pretty  piece  of  civility. — How  like  you  him  ?" 
Knowell  whispered  to  Wellbred. 

"  It's  a  most  precious  fool,  make  much  of  him." 

They  were  interrupted  by  Brainworm,  who  took 
them  aside  from  their  foolish  companions,  and 
surprised  them  by  a  revelation  of  his  disguise, 


EVERY    MAN    IN    HIS    HUMOR.  27 

and  his  adventures  therein,  telling  Knowell  that 
his  father  was  on  his  track,  and  was  at  that 
moment  at  Justice  Clement's,  in  Coleman  Street, 
whence  he  had  sent  him  in  search  of  his  eon. 
This  news  the  young  friends  took  as  an  amusing 
joke,  and  vowed  that  they  would  outwit  the  old 
gentleman,  or  apprentice  themselves  as  porters. 

Leaving  the  tavern,  the  party  sought  Mr. 
Kitely's  house.  Here  they  had  been  but  a  few 
minutes  when  a  quarrel  arose  between  Bobadil 
and  Cob,  his  landlord,  who  had  ventured  to  speak 
an  ill  word  for  tobacco — a  substance  then  recently 
introduced. 

"  Ods  me,"  he  said,  expressing  a  general  opinion 
of  the  period,  "  I  marvel  what  pleasure  or  felicity 
they  have  in  taking  this  roguish  tobacco?  It's 
good  for  nothing  but  to  choke  a  man  and  fill  him 
full  of  smoke  and  embers.  There  were  four  who 
died  out  of  one  house  last  week  with  taking  of 
it.  By  the  stocks,  an  there  were  no  wiser  men 
than  I,  I'd  have  it  present  whipping,  man  and 
woman,  that  should  deal  with  a  tobacco-pipe: 
why,  it  will  stifle  them  all  in  the  end,  as  many  as 
use  it ;  it's  little  better  than  ratsbane." 

Bobadil,  who  was  a  slave  to  the  Indian  weed, 
flew  into  a  violent  rage  at  this,  and  fell  upon  the 
water-carrier,  whom  he  beat  so  roundly  that  the 
others  had  to  come  to  his  rescue.  Cob  escaped 
at  last,  vowing  revenge,  while  the  valorous  cap- 
tain allowed  his  choler  to  evaporate  in  a  series  of 
strange  oaths.  These  Master  Stephen  sought  to 


28  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

imitate,  deeming  that  they  held  the  very  essence 
of  gentility. 

"  Oh,  he  swears  most  admirably !"  exclaimed 
the  admiring  fool.  "  By  Pharaoh's  foot !  Body  o' 
Csesar! — I  shall  never  do  it,  sure. — Upon  mine 
honor,  and  by  St.  George ! — No,  I  have  not  the 
right  grace." 

Cob  had  meanwhile  made  his  way  towards 
Justice  Clement's,  whither  he  had  been  sent  in 
search  of  Mr.  Kitely,  who,  in  his  jealous  humor, 
had  left  word  that  he  was  to  be  sent  for  instantly 
if  Wellbred  brought  any  strangers  to  his  house. 
The  angry  water-bearer  had  another  purpose, 
which  was  to  lodge  with  the  justice  a  complaint 
against  Bobadil,  for  the  beating  he  had  received. 

Justice  Clement,  whom  we  must  next  introduce 
to  the  reader,  was  a  personage  with  an  odd  humor 
of  his  own ;  "  a  good  lawyer,  a  great  scholar,"  Well- 
bred  had  said,  in  speaking  of  him,  "  but  the  only 
mad,  merry  old  fellow  in  Europe." 

"  I  have  heard  many  of  his  jests  in  the  Uni- 
versity," answered  Knowell.  "  They  say  he  will 
commit  a  man  for  taking  the  wall  of  his  horse." 

"  Ay,  or  wearing  his  cloak  on  one  shoulder,  or 
serving  of  God ;  anything,  indeed,  if  it  come  in 
the  way  of  his  humor." 

This  reputation  the  worthy  justice  had  well 
earned,  and  seemed  inclined  to  maintain.  For 
when  Cob  complained  of  the  beating  he  had  re- 
ceived, and  asked  for  a  warrant  to  arrest  his 
assailant,  the  fun-loving  magistrate  threatened  to 


EVERY   MAN    IX    HIS    HUMOR.  29 

send  him  to  prison  himself,  for  daring  to  utter 
libels  against  tobacco. 

"  What'  a  threadbare  rascal,  a  beggar  like  this 
to  deprave  and  abuse  the  virtue  of  an  herb  so 
generally  received  in  the  courts  of  princes,  the 
chambers  of  nobles,  the  bowers  of  sweet  ladies, 
the  cabins  of  soldiers !  Eoger,  away  with  him !" 

And  so  earnest  did  his  intention  to  send  him  to 
prison  appear,  that  Mr.  Knowell,  who  was  pres- 
ent, came  to  the  poor  fellow's  rescue. 

"  Give  him  his  warrant,  Eoger,"  answered  the 
justice,  with  a  laugh.  " He  shall  not  go.  I  did 
but  scare  the  knave." 

"  The  Lord  maintain  your  worship !"  prayed 
Cob. 

"Away  now. — How  now,  Master  Knowell,  in 
dumps!"  he  said  to  Mr.  Knowell.  "  Come,  this 
becomes  not." 

"  I  would,  sir,  I  could  not  feel  my  cares." 

"Your  cares  are  nothing,"  answered  Justice 
Clement,  heartily.  "  They  are  like  my  cap.  soon 
put  on  and  as  soon  put  off.  What !  your  son  is  old 
enough  to  govern  himself;  let  him  run  his  course  ; 
it's  the  only  way  to  make  him  a  staid  man.  If 
he  were  an  unthrift,  a  ruffian,  a  drunkard,  or  a 
licentious  liver,  then  you  had  reason  ;  but  being 
none  of  these,  mirth's  my  witness,  an  I  had  twice 
as  many  cares  as  you  have,  I'd  drown  them  all 
in  a  cup  of  sack.  Come,  come,  let's  try  it,"  and 
he  led  in  his  uneasy  friend  to  administer  this 
panacea. 

a* 


30  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

Meanwhile  Wellbred  and  his  friends  had  entered 
into  conversation  with  Dame  Kitely  and  her  sis- 
ter Bridget,  whom  Matthew  set  himself  to  court 
by  repeating  to  her  a  series  of  verses,  which 
Knowell  vowed  were  all  stolen.  Whether  or  not, 
it  was  evident  that  neither  he  nor  his  poetry  were 
much  to  the  young  lady's  taste,  she  seeming  much 
more  inclined  to  favor  young  Knowell,  whom  she 
now  met  for  the  first  time.  Nor  was  her  attrac- 
tion to  the  young  man  ill  placed,  for  he  found  his 
friend's  sister  to  be  a  maiden  of  rare  beauty  and 
wit,  and  vowed  in  his  heart  that  she  was  well 
•worth  the  gift  of  a  man's  love. 

Matthew's  verses  proved  still  less  to  the  taste  of 
another  member  of  the  household,  Mr.  Down- 
right, who  showed  his  ill  humor  with  the  whole 
party  so  strongly  that  Wellbred  took  offence,  and 
no  long  time  passed  before  swords  were  drawn 
and  challenges  given.  The  two  ladies,  at  this, 
screamed  for  help,  while  Kitely,  who  had  just 
returned,  rushed  in  with  his  servants  and  parted 
the  combatants. 

"  Why,  how  now,  brother,  who  enforced  this 
brawl  ?"  asked  Kitely,  after  the  visitors  had  with- 
drawn. 

"A  sort  of  lewd  rake-hells,  that  care  neither 
for  God  nor  the  devil,"  answered  Downright,  still 
fuming  with  rage.  "  And  they  must  come  here 
to  read  ballads,  and  roguery,  and  trash  !  I'll  mar 
the  knot  of  them  ere  I  sleep  ;  especially  that  brag- 
ging Bob  ;  and  songs  and  sonnets,  his  fellow." 


EVERY   -MAN    IN    HIS    HUMOR.  31 

"  Brother,  you  are  too  violent,"  pleaded  Bridget. 
"You  know  my  brother  Wellbred's  temper  will 
not  bear  any  reproof;  at  least  where  it  might 
wound  him  in  opinion  or  respect." 

"  Respect !  Among  such  as  have  no  spark  of 
manhood  or  good  manners !  Respect !  I'm 
ashamed  to  hear  you!"  and  her  angry  brother 
left  the  room  in  a  huff. 

"  Respect,  yes,"  said  Bridget,  firmly.  "  One  of 
them  was  a  civil  gentleman,  who  very  worthily 
demeaned  himself." 

"  Oh,  that  was  some  love  of  yours,  sister,"  said 
Kitely. 

"  A  love  of  mine ! — If  it  were  so,  brother,  you'd 
pay  my  portion  sooner  than  you  think  for." 

"  Indeed,  he  seemed  to  be  a  gentleman  of  a  fair 
disposition  and  excellent  good  parts,"  added  Mrs. 
Kitely. 

This  unlucky  remark  stirred  up  again  the  dis- 
eased fancy  of  her  jealous  spouse.  It  was  his 
wife's  lover,  then,  not  his  sister's,  he  said  to  him- 
self, whom  they  had  thus  highly  praised. 

"  Are  any  of  the  gallants  within,  Thomas  ?"  he  de- 
manded of  his  cashier,  after  the  ladies  had  retired. 

"  No,  sir,  they  are  all  gone." 

"  What  gentleman  was  it  they  praised  so?" 

"  They  call  him  Master  Knowell ;  a  handsome 
young  gentleman,  sir." 

"  Ay,  I  thought  so  ;  my  mind  gave  me  as  much. 
I'll  die  but  they  have  hid  him  in  the  house,  some- 
where; I'll  go  and  search.  Come  with  me, 


32  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

Thomas ;  be  true  to  me,  and  you  shall  find  me  a 
generous  master." 

While  the  jealous  husband  was  thus  giving 
himself  unnecessary  torture,  young  Knowell,  who 
had  been  deeply  smitten  by  Bridget's  charms  of 
face  and  manner,  was  begging  her  brother's  con- 
sent to  pay  his  addresses  to  her.  He  found  him 
more  than  willing. 

"She  is  a  maid  of  good  ornament  and  much 
modesty,"  he  declared,  "  and  by  this  hand  thou 
shalt  have  her!  I  conceive  so  worthily  both  of 
her  and  of  you,  that  I  cannot  fancy  a  better 
mating." 

"  Hold,  hold,  be  temperate.  She  may  not  have 
me." 

"  Thou  shalt  see.  Appoint  but  where  to  meet, 
and  as  I  am  an  honest  man,  I'll  bring  her." 

That  the  consent  of  Kitely,  Downright,  and  the 
elder  Knowell  could  be  had  to  this  hastily-devised 
marriage,  however,  seemed  questionable  to  the 
conspirators,  and  they  deemed  it  their  safest 
course  to  complete  the  business  clandestinely, — 
the  young  lady  consenting, — and  to  acquaint  the 
elders  with  it  when  it  was  too  late  to  object. 

Wellbred  lost  no  time  in  putting  his  scheme 
into  execution,  and,  at  the  same  time,  in  laying 
the  foundations  of  a  neat  jest  on  Kitely's  jealousy. 
To  this  end,  he  privately  told  Dame  Kitely  that 
her  husband  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting  the  wife 
of  Cob,  the  water-bearer,  during  the  husband's 
absence.  This  stirred  up  the  good  wife's  anger. 


EVERY   MAN    IN    HIS    HUMOR.  33 

"  I'll  after  him  presently,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
would  to  fortune  1  could  take  him  there,  i'  faith  I'd 
return  him  his  own,  I  warrant  him." 

Hardly  had  she  set  off  before  her  husband  en- 
tered and  asked  for  her.  He  was  informed  that 
she  had  gone  out,  and  at  once  his  jealousy  flamed 
up. 

"  How  !  is  my  wife  gone  forth  ?"  he  demanded. 
«  Whither,  for  God's  sake  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you,  brother,  whither  I  suspect  she's 
gone,"  said  "Wellbred. 

"  Whither,  good  brother  ?" 

"  To  Cob's  house,  I  believe ;  but,  keep  my  coun- 
sel." 

"  I  will,  I  will:  to  Cob's  house!  doth  she  haunt 
Cob's?— Why?  to  meet  her  lover?  If  I  should 
find  him  there  now " 

Off  he  went  in  a  fever  of  jealousy,  leaving  the 
laughing  "Wellbred  with  the  coast  clear  to  prose- 
cute his  friend's  suit  with  Bridget.  Calling  her 
into  his  counsel,  he  was  gratified  to  find  that  she 
was  in  no  sense  averse  to  the  projected  marriage. 
The  favor  with  which  she  had  regarded  young 
Knowell  had  quickly  ripened  into  love,  and  with 
little  hesitation  she  accompanied  her  brother  on 
his  clandestine  errand. 

While  they  were  on  their  way  to  the  appointed 
rendezvous,  Cob's  house  had  become  the  scene  of 
a  complicated  misunderstanding ;  for  in  addition  to 
Kitely  and  his  wife,  the  elder  Knowell  had  been 
sent  thither  by  Brainworm,  on  the  pretence  that 
VOL.  I.—c 


34  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

he  would  find  his  son  there,  in  company  with  a 
woman  of  bad  character.  The  complication  was 
added  to  by  Cob,  who,  being  not  free  from  jeal- 
ousy, had  strictly  charged  his  wife  to  keep  his 
doors  shut,  and  to  admit  no  one  in  his  absence. 

The  result  was  a  ludicrous  one.  First  came 
the  old  gentleman,  knocking  at  Cob's  door,  and 
demanding  young  Knowell.  Then  came  Dame 
Kitely,  demanding  her  husband,  and  mistaken  by 
old  Knowell  for  the  woman  his  son  was  to  meet. 
Close  on  their  heels  came  Kitely,  his  jealous  fancy 
spying  in  the  old  gentleman  his  wife's  secret 
lover.  Last  of  all  came  Cob,  who  beat  his  wife 
for  admitting  all  these  people  to  his  house  in  defi- 
ance of  his  orders.  The  complicated  wrangle  that 
followed  was  only  ended  when  Kitely  proposed 
that  they  should  take  their  grievances  to  Justice 
Clement,  a  proposal  to  which  they  willingly  as- 
sented, for  each  of  them  had  a  separate  wrong  to 
right. 

Leaving  them,  we  must  return  to  the  remainder 
of  our  characters,  particularly  to  Bobadil  and 
Matthew,  and  to  the  choleric  Downright,  who  was 
in  hot  search  of  this  oddly- associated  pair,  with 
an  ardent  desire  for  revenge. 

From  the  Windmill  Tavern,  the  captain  and 
his  companion,  in  company  with  young  Knowell 
and  Stephen,  had  sought  the  open  space  of  Moor- 
fields,  where  Bobadil  outdid  himself  in  boasting, 
little  dreaming  of  the  load  of  disgrace  that  was 
ready  to  fall  upon  his  head.  As  for  that  clown, 


EVERY   MAN    IN    HIS    HUMOR.  35 

Downright,  he  boastfully  declared,  he  should  re- 
ceive his  deserts.  Matthew  had  been  taught  a 
trick  with  the  1'apier  which  was  certain  death,  if 
managed  neatly. 

"  Captain,"  asked  Knowell,  slyly,  "  Did  you  ever 
prove  yourself  upon  any  of  our  masters  of  defence 
here  I" 

"  Oh,  good  sir,  yes !  I  hope  he  has,"  protested 
Matthew. 

"  By  honesty,  fair  sir,  believe  me,"  declared  the 
captain,  "I  have  graced  them  exceedingly;  and 
yet  now  they  hate  me,  and  why?  because  I  am 
excellent,  and  for  no  other  vile  reason  upon  the 
earth." 

"This  is  strange  and  barbarous,  as  ever  I 
heard,"  protested  Knowell. 

"Note,  sir.  They  have  assaulted  me,  some 
three,  four,  five,  six  of  them  together,  as  I  have 
walked  alone  in  divers  skirts  of  the  town ;  where 
I  have  driven  them  afore  me  the  whole  length  of 
a  street,  pitying  to  hurt  them,  believe  me.  By 
myself,  I  could  have  slain  them  all,  but  I  delight 
not  in  murder." 

"  Believe  me,  sir,  you  should  be  on  your  guard. 
Consider  what  a  loss  your  skill  would  be  to  the 
nation !"  said  Knowell. 

"  Indeed,  that  might  be  some  loss ;  but  who 
respects  it  ?"  answered  Bobadil.  "  I  will  tell  you, 
sir,  by  the  way  of  private,  and  under  seal :  I  am  a 
gentleman,  and  live  here  obscure,  and  to  myself; 
but  were  I  known  to  her  majesty  and  the  lords, 


36  TALES   FROM   THE  DRAMATISTS. 

— observe  me, — I  would  undertake,  upon  this  poor 
head  and  life,  for  the  public  benefit  of  the  state, 
not  only  to  spare  the  entire  lives  of  her  subjects 
in  general;  but  to  save  the  one-half,  nay,  three 
parts  of  her  yearly  charge  in  holding  war,  and 
against  what  enemy  soever.  And  how  would  I 
do  it,  think  you  ?" 

"Nay,  I  know  not,  nor  can  I  conceive,"  an- 
swered Knowell. 

"  Why,  thus,  sir.  I  would  select  nineteen  more, 
to  myself,  throughout  the  land ;  gentlemen  they 
should  be  of  good  spirit,  strong  and  able  con- 
stitution ;  I  would  choose  them  by  an  instinct,  a 
character  that  I  have ;  and  I  would  teach  these 
nineteen  the  special  rules,  as  your  punto,  your 
reverse,  your  stoccata,  your  imbroccato,  your 
passada,  your  montanto ;  till  they  could  all  play 
very  near,  or  altogether  as  well  as  myself.  This 
done,  say  the  enemy  were  forty  thousand  strong, 
we  twenty  would  come  into  the  field  the  tenth  of 
March,  or  thereabouts ;  and  we  would  challenge 
twenty  of  the  enemy;  they  could  not  in  their 
honor  refuse  us.  Well,  we  would  kill  them ; 
challenge  twenty  more,  kill  them ;  twenty  more, 
kill  them ;  twenty  more,  kill  them  too ;  and  thus 
would  we  kill  every  man  his  twenty  a  day,  that's 
twenty  score;  twenty  score,  that's  two  hundred; 
two  hundred  a  day,  five  days  a  thousand ;  forty 
thousand ;  forty  times  five,  five  times  forty,  two 
hundred  days  kills  them  all  up  by  computation. 
And  this  will  I  venture  my  poor  gentleman-like 


EVERY   MAN    IN    HIS   HUMOR.  37 

carcass  to  perform,  provided  there  be  no  treason 
practised  upon  us,  by  fair  and  discreet  manhood ; 
tbat  is,  civilly  by  the  sword." 

"  Why,  are  you  so  sure  of  your  hand,  captain, 
at  all  times?" 

"  Tut !  never  miss  thrust,  upon  my  reputation 
•with  you." 

"  I  would  not  stand  in  Downright' s  state  then, 
an  you  meet  him,  for  the  wealth  of  any  one  street 
in  London." 

"  Why,  sir,  you  mistake  me ;  if  he  were  here 
now,  by  this  welkin,  I  would  not  draw  my  weapon 
upon  him.  But  I  will  bastinado  him,  by  the 
bright  sun,  wherever  I  meet  him." 

"  Ods  so,  look  where  he  is !  yonder  he 
comes,"  and  Knowell  turned  aside  to  hide  his 
laughter. 

Downright  appeared  as  he  spoke,  grumbling  to 
himself  at  his  ill  luck  in  not  being  able  to  meet 
those  bragging  rascals.  A  change  came  upon  his 
face  on  perceiving  them. 

"  Oh,  Pharaoh's  foot,  have  I  found  you  ?"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  Come,  draw  to  your  tools ;  draw, 
gypsy,  or  I'll  thrash  you." 

"  Gentleman  of  valor,  I  do  believe  in  thee ;  hear 

me "  began  Bobadil,  with  a  marked  change  of 

countenance. 

"  Draw  your  weapon,  then." 

"Tall  man,  I  never  thought  on  it  till  now," 
protested  the  captain.  "  Body  of  me,  I  had  a 
warrant  of  the  peace  served  on  me,  even  now  as  I 
4 


38  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

came  along,  by  a  water-bearer;  this  gentleman 
saw  it,  Master  Matthew." 

"  'Sdeath !  you  will  not  draw,  then  ?"  Without 
further  waste  of  words,  Downright  fell  upon  him, 
wrested  his  weapon  from  him,  and  made  his  cud- 
gel play  stoccata  on  the  captain's  unresisting  car- 
cass, while  Matthew,  fancying  that  his  turn  would 
come  next,  took  hastily  to  his  heels. 

The  noble  captain  bore  his  severe  pummelling 
with  a  marvellons  patience,  failing  to  find  even  a 
word  in  defence  until  Downright  had  gone,  weary 
of  the  exercise,  when  he  protested  that  he  had 
been  struck  by  a  planet,  and  had  no  power  to 
touch  his  weapon. 

"Ay,  like  enough,"  answered  Knowell,  satiri- 
cally ;  "  I  have  heard  of  many  that  have  been 
beaten  under  a  planet.  Go,  get  you  to  a  surgeon. 
'Slid !  an  these  be  your  tricks,  your  passados,  and 
your  montantos,  I'll  none  of  them.  O,  manners  f 
that  this  age  should  bring  forth  such  creatures ! 
that  nature  should  be  at  leisure  to  make  them  ! 
Come,  coz." 

Stephen  obeyed,  after  possessing  himself  of 
Downright's  cloak,  which  he  had  dropped  and 
forgotten  in  his  rage.  Captain  Bobadil  sought 
redress  in  a  more  peaceful  fashion  than  befitted 
his  loud  protestations,  obtaining  a  warrant  of 
arrest  against  Downright,  to  procure  which  he 
pawned  his  silk  stockings  and  Matthew  his  ear- 
rings. The  warrant  was  served  by  Brainworm, 
who  had  now  assumed  the  disguise  of  a  city  ser- 


EVEEY   MAN    IN    HIS   HUMOB.  39 

geant  or  bailiff,  and  who,  in  support  of  his  new 
character,  arrested,  first  Stephen,  as  wearing 
Downright's  cloak,  and  afterwards  Downright 
himself. 

The  current  of  our  story  next  bears  us  to  Jus- 
tice Clement's  office,  whither  most  of  our  charac- 
ters have  gone.  They  could  not  have  sought  a 
better  place  for  the  settlement  of  their  disputes, 
for  the  worthy  justice  had  a  marked  talent  for 
untying  hard  knots.  His  first  visitors  were 
Kitely  and  his  wife,  Cob  and  his  dame,  and  the 
elder  Knowell.  Some  shrewd  questioning  on  the 
part  of  the  magistrate  quickly  untangled  their 
difficulties,  and  proved  that  they  had  all  been 
gulled  by  a  trick  of  the  fun-loving  Wellbred, — a 
revelation  that  made  the  merchant  thoroughly 
ashamed  of  his  jealousy. 

They  were  interrupted  by  a  message  to  the 
justice  that  a  soldier  desired  to  speak  with  him. 
"A  soldier!"  he  exclaimed.  "My  armor,  my 
sword,  quickly."  He  armed  himself  in  haste. 
"  Now  let  the  soldier  enter." 

The  soldier  proved  to  be  Captain  Bobadil,  who 
entered,  followed  by  Matthew,  and  preferred  a 
complaint  against  Downright  of  having  beaten 
him  in  the  street,  though  he  had  not  offered  to 
resist  him. 

"O  God's  precious!  is  this  the  soldier?"  cried 
the  justice.  "  Here,  take  my  armor  off,  quickly ; 
'twill  make  him  swoon,  I  fear;  he  is  not  fit  to  look 
on  it,  that  put  up  a  blow." 


40  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"An't  please  your  worship,  he  was  bound  to 
the  peace,"  said  Matthew. 

"Why,  an  he  were,  sir,  his  hands  were  not 
bound,  were  they?" 

At  this  moment  Brainworm,  in  his  disguise  of 
a  city  sergeant,  entered  with  his  two  prisoners. 
The  justice  questioned  them  closely,  asking  under 
whose  warrant  they  had  been  arrested,  as  he  had 
given  none.  Downright  replied  that  he  had  not 
seen  the  warrant. 

"  Why,  Master  Downright,"  cried  the  justice, 
"  are  you  such  a  novice,  to  be  served,  and  never 
see  the  warrant  ?" 

"Marry,  sir,  this  sergeant  came  to  me  and  said 
he  must  serve  it,  and  he  would  use  me  kindly, 
and  so " 

"  Oh,  God's  pity,  was  it  so,  sir  ?"  exclaimed  the 
justice.  "  He  must  serve  it !  Give  me  my  long 
sword  there,  and  help  me  down.  So  come  on, 
sir  varlet.  I  must  cut  off  your  legs,  sirrah." 
Brainworm,  in  a  fright,  fell  on  his  knees.  "  Nay, 
stand  up ;  I'll  use  you  kindly.  I  must  cut  off  your 
legs,  I  say ;  there  is  no  remedy.  I  must  cut  off 
your  ears,  you  rascal ;  I  must  cut  off  your  nose  ;  I 
must  cut  off  your  head." 

Brain  worn  was  kept  dancing  to  escape  the 
sweep  of  the  long  sword,  with  which  the  humor- 
ous justice  accented  his  words. 

"O,  good  sir,  I  beseech  you !"  pleaded  the  culprit. 
M  Nay,  good  Master  Justice  !" 

"  You  knave,  you  slave,  you  rogue,  do  you  say 


EVERY  MAN    IN    HIS   HUMOR.  41 

you  must,  sirrah?  Away  with  him  to  the  jail; 
I'll  teach  you  a  trick,  for  your  must,  sir." 

"  Nay,  sir,  if  you  will  commit  me,  it  shall  be 
for  more  than  this,"  and  the  roguish  servant 
threw  off  his  borrowed  suit  and  appeared  in  his 
proper  person. 

"  How  is  this  ?"  cried  the  justice. 

"  My  man  Brainworm !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Knowell. 

Brainworm,  in  reply,  explained  his  various 
devices ;  how  he  had  deceived  his  master  in  the 
disguise  of  an  old  soldier;  how  he  had  made 
Formal,  the  justice's  clerk,  drunk,  and  stolen 
his  dress  ;  and  how  he  had  finally  pawned  this  for 
the  robe  of  a  city  sergeant. 

"  Body  o'  me,  a  merry  knave !"  cried  the  justice. 
"  Give  me  a  bowl  of  sack.  If  he  belong  to  you, 
Master  Knowell,  I  bespeak  your  pardon. — "  Come, 
sirrah,  unfold  now  what  use  you  had  for  my 
fellow  Formal's  suit  ?" 

"  I  used  it  to  get  this  gentleman,  Master  Kitely, 
out  of  the  way,  with  a  message  from  your 
worship,  while  Master  Wellbred  might  make  a 
conveyance  of  Mistress  Bridget  to  my  young 
master." 

This  information  created  a  general  surprise. 

"  How !  my  sister  stolen  away  ?"  cried  Kitely. 

"My  son  is  not  married,  I  hope,"  exclaimed 
Knowell. 

"  Faith,  sir,  as  sure  as  love,  a  priest,  and  three 
thousand  pounds,  which  is  her  portion,  can  make 
them.  By  this  time  they  are  ready  to  bespeak 
4* 


42  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

their  wedding  supper  at  the  Windmill,  except 
some  friend  here  invite  them  home." 

"  Marry,  that  will  1 1"  exclaimed  the  merry 
justice,  in  hearty  tones.  "  Their  friends  have  no 
cause  to  be  sorry,  if  I  know  the  young  couple 
aright.  Here,  I  drink  to  you  for  your  good  news. 
Sirrah,  go  and  fetch  them  hither  upon  my  war- 
rant," he  said  to  a  servant.  "  Now,  I  pray  you, 
what  have  you  done  with  my  man  Formal  ?" 

This  question  was  answered  by  the  appearance 
of  Formal  himself,  who  entered  thoroughly 
sobered,  and  dressed  in  a  suit  of  ancient  armor, 
which  he  had  found  in  the  room  where  Brain- 
worm  had  left  him. 

While  the  company  was  still  laughing  at  the 
poor  fellow's  ludicrous  and  downcast  aspect,  the 
newly-married  couple  made  their  appearance, 
accompanied  by  Wellbred. 

"  Who  be  these  ?"  exclaimed  the  justice.  "  Oh, 
the  young  company !  Welcome,  welcome.  Give 
you  joy.  Nay,  Mistress  Bridget,  blush  not ;  you 
are  not  so  fresh  a  bride  but  the  news  of  it  is  come 
hither  before  you.  Master  bridegroom,  I  have 
made  your  peace,  give  me  your  hand.  I  will  do  as 
much  for  all  the  rest  ere  you  forsake  my  roof." 

This  he  did,  in  his  own  cheery  way,  laughing 
Kitely  out  of  his  jealousy ;  emptying  Matthew's 
pockets  of  their  load  of  stolen  verses,  which  he 
ordered  to  be  burned  ;  and  ordering  a  wedding 
supper.  As  for  the  various  culprits,  he  disposed 
of  them  as  follows  : 


EVERY   MAN    IN    HIS   HUMOR.  43 

"  To  dispatch  these : — you  sign  of  the  soldier 
aud  picture  of  the  poet ;  while  we  are  at  supper 
you  two  shall  penitently  fast  in  my  court  without ; 
and  if  you  will,  you  may  pray  there  that  we  shall 
be  so  merry  within  as  to  forgive  or  forget  you 
when  we  come  out." 

"  And  what  shall  I  do  ?"  asked  Stephen. 

"Oh!  I  had  lost  a  sheep  an  he  had  not 
bleated  1  Why,  sir,  you  shall  give  Mr.  Down- 
right his  cloak;  and  shall  have  a  trencher  and  a 
napkin  in  the  buttery,  with  Cob  and  his  wife  here 
for  company.  Come,  I  conjure  the  rest  of  you  to  put 
off  all  discontent :  you,  Master  Downright,  your 
anger ;  you,  Master  Knowell,  your  cares  ;  Master 
Kitely  and  his  wife,  their  jealousy.  This  night 
we'll  dedicate  to  friendship,  love,  and  laughter. 
Master  bridegroom,  take  your  bride  and  lead; 
every  one  a  fellow." 

And  with  the  merry  justice  to  head  the  table, 
the  wedding  supper  of  the  newly-married  pair 
passed  off  in  the  rarest  round  of  jollity. 


PHILASTER5  OR,  LOVE  LIES  BLEEDING, 

BY  BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 


[Tns  most  famous  of  literary  partnerships  in 
the  history  of  mankind  is  that  of  the  dramatists 
here  named,  two  of  the  most  prolific  playwrights 
and  ablest  lyric  and  descriptive  poets  of  the 
Elizabethan  age.  So  intimate  was  their  friend- 
ship that  they  lived  in  the  same  house  and  had 
clothes  and  all  other  things  in  common,  and  so 
closely  allied  were  they  in  mind  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  discover  what  part  each  of  them  con- 
tributed to  their  plays. 

Francis  Beaumont  was  born  in  1584  and  died 
in  1616.  He  was  educated  at  Oxford,  and  after- 
wards became  an  intimate  friend  of  Ben  Jonson 
and  the  other  eminent  frequenters  of  the  famous 
Mermaid  Tavern.  Here  he  probably  first  met 
John  Fletcher,  who  was  five  years  older  than 
himself,  and  had  been  educated  at  Cambridge. 
Fletcher's  first  play  was  the  "  Woman  Hater," 
produced  in  1607.  His  dramatic  partnership 
with  Beaumont  began  after  that  date,  a  large 
number  of  plays  being  produced  by  the  two  in 
common,  while  after  Beaumont's  death  Fletcher 
44 


rtnershij 

'  :  Sts 

••!    . 


.ibly  first  met 
Jo  in 

•If,  and   hail   b<#  ,-d  at  Cn 

uer's  first  pi  the  «  W«. 

in    1607.      His   drair.- 
at  began  afto- 


PHILASTER  J   OR,  LOVE   LIES   BLEEDING.  45 

produced  many  plays,  partly  alone,  and  partly  in 
concert  with  other  dramatists.  It  is  believed  that 
Shakespeare  took  part  in  the  writing  of  "  The  Two 
Noble  Kinsmen,"  and  that  Fletcher  had  a  share 
in  Shakespeare's  "  Henry  VIII."  Fletcher  died  in 
1625. 

The  plays  of  these  two  dramatists  fail  to  reach 
the  higher  levels  of  the  art.  Their  power  of 
characterization  is  not  deep,  nor  are  they  capable 
of  expressing  sentiment  and  passion  in  their 
deeper  manifestations,  though  they  had  an  excel- 
lent knowledge  of  stage  effect,  and  much  poetical 
ability.  Morally  they  are  deficient,  even  the 
best  of  their  plays,  "The  Maid's  Tragedy," 
being  deeply  infiltrated  with  licentiousnes.  This 
play,  and  "  Philaster,"  with  the  powerful  passages 
in  "  The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen,"  alone  hold  a  high 
rank  in  dramatic  composition.  We  give  the  story 
of  "  Philaster,"  as  the  most  attractive  example  of 
their  inventive  genius.] 

The  King  of  Calabria  had  a  beautiful  and 
charming  daughter  named  Arethusa,  for  whom, 
as  she  had  reached  the  proper  age  to  marry, 
he  wished  to  contract  an  alliance  that  would 
strengthen  his  power  and  add  glory  to  his  reign. 
The  fame  of  the  beauty  of  this  princess  had 
spread  far  through  the  neighboring  kingdoms, 
and  brought  her  many  suitors,  the  latest  of  whom 
was  Pharamond,  a  prince  of  Spain,  who  had  come 
to  Messina  as  a  suitor  for  her  hand.  This  pro- 


46  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

posed  alliance  pleased  the  king  greatly,  much 
more,  indeed,  than  it  did  his  daughter  or  his  peo- 
ple. Arethusa  felt  disdain  rather  than  love  for 
the  weak-faced,  conceited,  and  haughty  foreign 
prince.  And  the  thought  of  this  foppish  stranger 
marrying  the  heir  of  the  kingdom,  and  becoming 
their  future  sovereign,  was  far  from  agreeable 
to  the  people  of  Messina,  who  had  views  of  their 
own  as  to  the  heir  to  the  throne. 

The  principal  cause  of  their  opposition  was 
this.  The  late  king  of  Calabria  had  made  war 
upon  Sicily,  conquered  it,  and  deposed  its  king, 
adding  the  conquered  kingdom  to  His  own.  The 
deposed  monarch  had  since  died,  but  his  son,  Phi- 
laster,  still  lived,  and  was  so  noble,  brave,  and  vir- 
tuous a  prince  that  all  the  people  loved  him  and 
pitied  his  misfortune.  So  popular  was  he,  indeed, 
that  the  present  king,  though  greatly  fearing  him, 
dared  not  deprive  him  of  his  liberty.  A  recent 
threat  to  imprison  him  had  thrown  the  whole 
city  into  revolt,  nor  had  the  rebels  laid  down 
their  arms  until  they  saw  Philaster  ride  through 
the  streets  in  full  freedom.  Then  they  threw  up 
their  hats,  kindled  bonfires,  and  crowded  the 
taverns  to  drink  the  health  of  their  favorite. 
These  adherents  of  Prince  Philaster  now  feared 
that  the  Spanish  alliance  was  favored  by  the  king 
that  he  might  bring  in  the  power  of  a  foreign 
nation  with  which  to  awe  his  own,  and  that  they 
would  then  be  oppressed  and  the  liberty  and  life 
of  their  favorite  be  in  danger.  A  marriage 


PHILASTER ;   OR,  LOVE   LIES   BLEEDING.  47 

between  Philaster  and  Arethusa  would  have  been 
far  more  to  their  liking,  as  bringing  the  rightful 
heir  to  the  throne,  and  cementing  the  union  be- 
tween Sicily  and  Calabria ;  but  no  such  thought  as 
this  seemed  to  have  entered  the  mind  of  the  king. 

Such  a  match  would  have  brought  joy  to  others 
than  the  citizens,  for  Philaster  and  Arethusa  were 
secretly  in  love  with  each  other.  Truly,  he  had 
never  spoken  of  his  love  to  her,  nor  she  to  him ; 
but  he  adored  her  in  secret,  while  she,  though 
seemingly  yielding  to  her  father's  command  to 
accept  Prince  Pharamond  as  her  betrothed,  had 
done  so  with  a  mental  reservation  to  marry  none 
but  Philaster,  if  he  should  return  her  love. 

Philaster  had  no  thought  of  submitting  tamely 
to  the  king's  plan  of  giving  the  crown  of  Sicily 
to  a  foreigner.  Aside  from  his  love  for  Arethusa, 
he  felt  that  this  crown  was  rightfully  his,  and 
did  not  propose  to  yield  it  to  a  "  prince  of  popin- 
jays," as  he  scornfully  called  Pharamond. 

The  king  had  invited  the  high  lords  and  ladies 
of  Messina  to  his  court  to  meet  the  Spanish 
prince,  but  so  strong  was  the  feeling  against  the 
foreign  alliance  that  few  responded  to  this  invi- 
tation, and  all  that  came  were  friends  to  Philaster. 
In  the  midst  of  the  audience,  while  Pharamond 
was  loudly  declaring  that  his  reign  would  be  so 
easy  that  every  man  should  be  prince  and  law 
unto  himself,  and  conceitedly  telling  the  princess 
that  she  would  have  a  "man  of  men"  for  her 
husband,  Philaster  entered  and  boldly  told  the 


48  TALES    FROM    THE   DRAMATISTS. 

boasting  stranger  that  the  kingdom  he  sought 
belonged  to  another,  and  was  not  to  be  had  for 
the  asking. 

"  I  tell  you  this,  Pharamond,"  he  haughtily 
said,  "when  you  are  king,  look  that  I  be  dead 
and  my  name  ashes.  Before  that  day  of  shame 
this  very  ground  you  tread  on,  this  fat  and  fertile 
earth  that  bears  your  pride,  shall  gape  and  swal- 
low you  and  your  nation  as  into  a  grave.  By 
Nemesis,  it  shall !" 

The  king  had  given  Philaster  leave  to  speak 
freely ;  but  he  feared  the  effect  upon  the  people 
of  this  bold  language,  and  angrily  drew  the  indig- 
nant youth  aside,  bidding  him  to  tell  in  private 
what  uneasy  spirit  possessed  him. 

"  It  is  my  father's  spirit,"  declared  Philaster. 
"  He  tells  me  that  I  was  a  king's  heir,  and  bids 
me  be  a  king.  When  I  would  sleep  he  dives  into 
my  fancy,  and  brings  me  shapes  that  kneel  and 
call  me  '  King.' — Yet  I  know  that  he  is  a  factious 
spirit,  noble  sir,  and  I  will  suppress  him.  While 
you  reign  I  am  your  faithful  subject." 

"  Philaster,  I  like  not  this,"  said  the  king,  in 
fear  and  anger.  "  For  this  once,  sirrah,  I  pardon 
your  wild  speech  ;  but  take  good  heed,  and  tempt 
me  not  too  far,  lest  I  dispossess  you  alike  of  throne 
and  life.  I  will  tame  you,  sir,  if  you  tame  not 
yourself." 

With  these  words  he  turned  angrily  away, 
and  left  the  presence-chamber  with  Pharamond, 
though  all  could  see  that  he  had  grown  pale  and 


PHILASTER ;   OR,  LOVE   LIES   BLEEDING.  49 

trembled  with  emotion.  The  gentlemen  who  re- 
nuiined,  crowded  about  Philaster,  eager  to  learn 
what  he  had  said  to  throw  the  king  into  a  sweat 
that  stood  upon  his  brow  like  a  cold  winter  dew. 

"  How  do  you,  worthy  sir  ?"  asked  one. 

"  Well ;  very  well,"  answered  Philaster.  "  If 
the  king  please,  I  find  that  I  may  live  many 
years." 

"  The  king  must  please,  while  we  know  what 
and  who  you  are,"  answered  Dion,  an  old  lord, 
and  one  of  Philaster's  chief  adherents.  "  If  any 
seek  to  harm  you  we'll  rouse  the  people  in  your 
name,  till  your  enemies  shall  beg  for  mercy  at 
your  sword's  point." 

"  Friends,  no  more,"  said  Philaster.  "  Trust 
me  not  to  forget  your  love  and  proffered  service, 
if  peril  should  confront  me.  But  the  time  is  not 
yet." 

His  conference  with  the  lords  was  broken  by 
the  entrance  of  a  lady  of  the  court,  who  told 
him  that  the  princess  had  sent  for  him,  and 
wished  to  see  him.  Philaster,  full  of  joy  at  this, 
promised  gladly  to  attend  her,  at  which  Dion 
broke  out  into  words  of  warning,  saying  that  this 
mission  might  cover  some  foul  plot  to  take  his 
life.  But  the  ardent  young  prince  was  not  in  the 
mood  to  listen  to  the  counsels  of  prudence.  Love 
with  him  was  stronger  than  fear,  and  he  resolved  to 
follow  the  lady,  whatever  might  come  of  it.  Find- 
ing that  he  could  not  move  him  from  his  purpose, 
Dion  left  the  palace,  with  the  intention  of  advis- 
VOL.  I. — c  d  5 


50  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

ing  his  friends  of  the  prince's  peril,  for  he  greatly 
feared  that  the  king  designed  some  treachery. 

His  dread  was  ill  placed.  Ai-ethusa  had  really 
sent  for  the  prince,  and  with  a  purpose  far  re- 
moved from  treason.  At  first,  indeed,  she  made 
a  show  of  blaming  him  bitterly  for  his  late  in- 
temperate words,  in  which  he  had  called  her 
dowry  in  question.  She  told  him  that  both  king- 
doms were  hers,  and  that  she  must  possess  them ; 
but  when  he  pressed  her  in  tones  of  satire  to  say 
what  else  she  craved,  she  would  not  answer  till 
he  had  turned  aside  his  face.  Then,  with  blushing 
cheeks  and  trembling  lips,  she  said, — 

"  I  must  have  them — and  thee." 

«  Me  ?" 

"Thy  love,  Philaster;  without  which  all  these 
lands  will  serve  me  for  no  use  but  to  be  buried  in." 

"  Love  you !  By  all  my  hopes,  I  do  above  my 
life!"  he  cried,  in  sudden  ecstasy.  "Yet  I  feared 
I  loved  in  vain." 

"  In  vain  I"  cried  the  princess,  reproachfully. 
"Your  soul  is  mine,  Philaster.  The  gods  have 
made  me  love  you,  and  surely  our  love  is  blest 
in  that  their  secret  justice  is  mingled  with  it." 

Arethusa's  blushing  confession  filled  Philaster's 
soul  with  the  deepest  joy.  He  had  not  hoped  for 
such  a  rich  response  to  his  heart's  desire,  and 
gladly  sealed  their  souls'  betrothal  with  an  ardent 
kiss  on  her  sweet  lips.  But  their  vows  of  love 
soon  gave  way  to  more  earthly  thoughts.  Their 
secret  must  not  yet  be  known.  How  should  they 


PHILASTER;  OR,  LOVE  LIES  BLEEDING.        51 

hide  it,  and  yet  gain  opportunities  for  loving  in- 
tercourse ? 

"  I  have  a  boy,"  said  Philaster,  "  the  trustiest, 
lovingest,  and  gentlest  lad  that  ever  master  kept. 
Lately,  when  hunting,  I  found  him  by  a  foun- 
tain in  the  forest,  where  he  sat  weeping  and  weav- 
ing garlands  of  flowers.  When  I  asked  him 
his  story,  he  told  me  that  his  parents  had  died, 
leaving  him  to  the  mercy  of  the  fields,  the  springs, 
and  the  sun.  I  brought  this  woodland  waif  home, 
and  cannot  but  love  him  for  his  gentleness.  I 
will  send  him  to  wait  on  you,  for  we  can  find  no 
more  trusty  messenger  of  love." 

That  this  boy,  Bellario,  loved  Philaster,  any 
one  must  have  said  who  saw  them  together.  And 
when  Philaster  had  sought  his  home,  and  told  the 
pretty  lad  of  the  service  he  wished  him  to  per- 
form, Bellario  wept  as  though  his  heart  would 
break,  and  vowed  that  his  master  wished  to 
throw  him  off. 

"  Thy  love  doth  plead  so  prettily  to  stay  that, 
trust  me,  I  could  weep  to  part  with  thee,"  an- 
swered Philaster.  "  i  do  not  turn  thee  off,  for 
when  thou  art  with  her  I  love  thou  dwellest 
still  with  me.  When  this  trust  is  ended  I  will 
again  with  joy  receive  thee." 

Bellario  obeyed  with  weeping  eyes,  and  such  a 
show  of  love  for  his  master  that  the  latter  beheld 
it  with  surprise.  Little  dreamed  he  of  the  truth, 
— that  the  seeming  soft-faced  boy  was  really  a 
woman,  and  loved  him  with  a  woman's  love. 


52  TALES   PROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

Bellario's  true  name  was  Euphrasia,  and  she  was 
the  daughter  of  old  Dion.  She  had  first  grown 
to  love  Philaster  from  her  father's  praises  of  his 
honor  and  virtue,  and  afterwards  from  seeing  him 
and  hearing  him  converse.  Led  by  her  love,  she 
had  left  home  on  a  feigned  pilgrimage,  and,  dis- 
guising herself  as  a  boy,  had  placed  herself  where 
he  might  find  her,  having  first  made  a  vow  never 
to  reveal  her  sex  to  mortal  man.  This  vow  was 
the  source  of  much  future  misery,  as  the  course 
of  our  story  will  reveal. 

As  for  Arethusa,  the  seeming  gentle  lad  so  won 
her  heart  that  she  soon  loved  him  next  to  Philaster, 
and  the  more  so  that  he  told  tales  sweet  to  her 
ears  of  Philaster's  passionate  devotion. 

"  If  it  be  love  to  sit  cross-armed  and  sigh  away 
the  day,"  said  Bellario,  softly ;  "  if  it  be  love  to 
weep  himself  away  when  he  but  hears  of  any 
lady  dead,  fearing  such  chance  for  you  ;  if,  when 
he  goes  to  rest,  to  name  you  once  after  his  every 
prayer,  as  others  drop  a  bead,  be  to  be  in  love, 
then,  madame,  I  dare  swear  he  loves  you  well." 

"  Oh,  you  are  a  cunning  boy,  and  have  been 
taught  to  lie  for  your  lord's  credit,"  cried  Are- 
thusa, happily.  "But  any  lie  that  sounds  like 
this  is  welcomer  than  truth  that  says  he  loves 
me  not." 

She  stroked  the  lad's  hair  and  patted  his  soft 
cheeks  as  she  spoke,  but  kissed  him  not, — her 
kisses  of  love  were  kept  for  Philaster.  But  she 
ordered  that  the  fair  boy  should  be  richly  dressed, 


PHILASTER ;   OR,  LOVE   LIES   BLEEDING.  53 

and  kept  him  by  her  as  though  her  heart  had 
overflown  to  him. 

Over  her  ecstasy  of  secret  love,  however,  there 
hung  a  cloud  of  coming  woe, — the  suit  of  Phara- 
raond  and  her  father's  favor  of  it.  But,  fortunately 
for  the  lovers,  the  base-minded  Spaniard  was  too 
licentious  in  disposition  to  keep  a  show  of  virtue 
even  at  the  court  of  his  intended  father-in-law. 
So  open  was  he  in  wickedness,  indeed,  that  the 
king  discovered  him  seeking  to  seduce  a  lady  of 
the  court,  and  in  his  moment  of  anger  declared 
that  no  such  lustful  villain  should  ever  marry  a 
daughter  of  his. 

So  furious  he  grew,  indeed,  that  Megra,  the 
lady  in  question,  retorted  on  him ;  declaring  that 
the  honor  of  Arethusa,  his  proud  daughter,  was 
not  above  suspicion,  that  she  kept  a  handsome 
boy  of  eighteen  as  her  leman  ;  and  advising  him, 
before  charging  others  with  lack  of  virtue,  to 
look  at  home  more  closely. 

This  chance  accusation,  thrown  out  at  random 
by  a  wanton,  was  the  source  of  woes  unnumbered 
to  the  lovers.  The  tale  soon  got  abroad,  and  the 
multitude,  ever  ready  to  believe  evil  of  the  great, 
and  ill  disposed  to  the  princess  from  their  dislike 
to  the  Spanish  betrothal,  asked  no  proof  to  credit 
it.  It  came  quickly  to  the  ears  of  Philaster, 
and  roused  him  to  fury.  But  when  Dion,  whose 
sterling  honesty  was  beyond  question,  assured 
the  indignant  lover  that  the  story  was  true,  and 
that  he  had  personal  knowledge  that  the  princess 
5* 


54  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

was  living  in  lascivious  intercourse  with  her  hand- 
some page,  his  anger  changed  to  a  fierce  passion 
of  jealousy. 

Dion  had  lied,  deeming  that  only  thus  could 
he  draw  Philaster  from  his  infatuation.  He  and 
his  friends  knew  that  the  people  were  so  strong 
in  favor  of  the  prince  that  the  time  was  ripe 
for  revolt.  In  their  view,  only  his  love  for  the 
princess  kept  him  from  heading  his  friends  and 
striking  for  his  royal  heritage,  and  a  lie  for  this 
good  end  seemed  to  the  worthy  Dion  but  a  venial 
sin.  Little  did  the  politic  old  lord  dream  that  it 
was  his  own  daughter  who  thus  posed  as  the 
paramour  of  Arethusa. 

Hardly  had  this  disgraceful  tale  reached  Phi- 
laster's  ears  than  Bellario  came  to  him  with  a 
message  from  the  princess.  The  distressed  lover 
gazed  upon  the  seeming  boy  with  looks  of  ill- 
repressed  jealousy,  and  questioned  him  closely  as 
to  how  the  princess  used  him.  Bellario  answered 
with  a  story  of  kindness  and  affection  that  stirred 
the  lover  to  new  rage,  and  when  at  length,  per- 
ceiving the  direction  in  which  his  questions  led, 
she  refused  to  answer  further,  he  drew  his  sword 
and  threatened  to  kill  her  unless  she  would  tell 
him  all. 

"  I  am  determined  to  see  your  thoughts  as  plain 
as  I  do  now  your  face,"  he  declared,  passionately. 

"  Why,  so  you  do,"  answered  Bellario.  "  The 
princess  is,  for  aught  I  know,  by  all  the  gods,  as 
chaste  as  ice.  But  were  she  foul  as  hell,  and  I 


PHILASTER;  OR,  LOVE  LIES  BLEEDING.        55 

knew  it,  you  threats  were  wasted.  What  I  might 
come  to  know,  as  servant  to  her,  I  would  not 
reveal  to  make  my  life  last  ages." 

"  You  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  die." 

"  Do  I  not,  my  lord  ?  It  is  less  than  to  be  born ; 
a  lasting  sleep,  a  quiet  resting  from  all  jealousy, 
a  thing  we  all  pursue.  I  know,  besides,  it  is  but 
the  giving  over  of  a  game  that  must  be  lost." 

In  the  end  the  distracted  lover  sheathed  his 
sword,  but  bade  Bellario  leave  him,  and  never  let 
him  see  that  hated  face  again.  This  the  heart- 
broken messenger  agreed  to  do,  saying  that  there 
was  nothing  now  to  live  for,  and  praying  him, 
should  he  hear  that  sorrow  had  struck  his  poor, 
fond  boy  dead,  to  shed  one  tear  for  him  in 
memory. 

The  disgraceful  story  which  had  brought  such 
distress  to  Philaster  was  destined  to  bring  as 
great  to  Arethusa.  For  first  the  king,  her  father, 
called  upon  her  and  bade  her  dismiss  the  boy, 
saying  that  foul  whispers  against  her  honor  had 
been  set  astir.  Philaster  quickly  followed,  and 
found  her  in  tears,  and  mingling  her  vows  of  love 
for  him  with  such  sorrow  at  the  loss  of  the  dear 
boy  he  had  given  her  that  jealousy  overcame 
him,  and  he  burst  out  into  angry  accusations. 
Arethusa  listened  in  distraction.  Had  the  foul 
suspicions  which  her  father  had  darkly  hinted  so 
soon  infected  her  lover's  heart  ?  Then  was  there 
naught  left  to  live  for,  and  death  would  be  a  blest 
relief. 


56  TALES   PROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"Be  merciful,  ye  gods,  and  strike  me  dead!" 
she  cried,  when  he  had  withdrawn  in  a  hot  pas- 
sion. "In  what  way  have  I  deserved  this?  Make 
my  breast  transparent  as  pure  crystal,  that  the 
world,  jealous  of  my  fair  fame,  may  see  the  foul- 
est thought  my  heart  possesses.  Where  shall  a 
woman  turn  her  eyes  to  find  man's  constancy  ?" 

The  scene  of  our  story  now  shifts  from  the 
palace  to  the  forest.  The  king,  wishing  to  do  all 
honor  to  his  princely  visitor,  had  arranged  a  hunt- 
ing party,  and  rode  to  the  neighboring  woodlands 
with  Pharamond  and  his  lords.  Arethusa,  at  his 
request,  joined  the  party,  though  with  secret 
thoughts  of  her  own.  For  her  heart  was  so 
bleeding  with  the  wounds  it  had  received  that 
she  had  resolved  to  flee  from  men,  and  seek  peace 
and  shelter  from  human  faithlessness  under  the 
forest  shades. 

By  chance,  Bellario  and  Philaster  had  sought 
the  same  refuge  in  their  misery.  Thus  these 
three  were  soon  wandering  desolately  under  the 
green  dome  of  leaves,  and  with  a  common  sorrow, 
— for  Arethusa  had  separated  herself  from  the 
hunting  party,  and  sought  a  distant  covert  where 
she  might  weep  unseen. 

The  princess  was  soon  missed,  and,  fearing  some 
dread  accident,  the  whole  train  of  huntsmen  set 
themselves  in  eager  search  of  her,  for  the  king 
was  so  distracted  at  her  loss  that  he  bitterly 
accused  his  courtiers  of  lack  of  vigilance  in 
guarding  his  daughter. 


PHILASTER  ;    OR,  LOVE   LIES   BLEEDING.  57 

Fortune,  however,  had  prepared  another  end- 
ing for  this  strange  adventure.  Philaster,  wan- 
dering wofully  through  the  forest  paths,  his  heart 
still  torn  with  the  pangs  of  jealousy,  chanced  to 
meet  Bellario,  who  was  suffering  so  severely  from 
cold  and  hunger  that  she  was  forced  to  beg  relief 
from  her  late  master. 

"Is  it  you?"  he  harshly  cried.  "Begone,  in- 
grate !  Go  sell  those  tine  clothes  she  has  dressed 
you  in  and  feed  yourself  with  them." 

"Alas,  my  lord,  I  can  get  nothing  for  them," 
pleaded  Bellario.  "  The  silly  country-people  think 
it  would  be  treason  to  touch  such  gay  attire." 

"  Think  you  to  cozen  me/again  ?  Tell  me  which 
way  you  will  take,  that  I  may  shun  you  ?  This 
way,  or  that  way  ?" 

"  Any  way  will  serve,  so  it  but  leads  to  my 
grave,"  wept  Bellario,  sadly  taking  the  first  path 
that  oifered,  while  Philaster  angrily  took  another. 

Yet,  by  love's  direction,  it  happened  that  their 
paths  ran  parallel,  both  ending  in  that  distant 
part  of  the  forest  where  Arethusa  sat  moaning, 
worn  out  wTith  her  unaccustomed  wanderings. 

Bellario  first  .espied  her,  as  she  sat  pallid  and 
faint  with  fatigue  on  a  green  woodland  bank. 
But  hardly  had  the  seeming  boy,  with  earnest 
appeal,  called  back  the  exhausted  lady  to  life  and 
memory,  than  Philaster  entered  and  saw  her 
busied  in  pitying  cares  about  his  lost  love.  The 
flames  of  jealous  fury  leaped  again  in  his  heart 
on  seeing  this.  How  had  they  met  ?  Could  this 


58  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

be  chance,  or  was  it  an  assignation  ?  On  them 
both  the  storm  of  his  anger  burst,  till  he  became 
so  frenzied  that  he  drew  his  sword  and  bade 
Arethusa  strike  him  dead.  When  she  refused  to 
do  this,  he  bade  Bellario  kill  him  ;  and  when  the 
distressed  page  drew  back  in  horror,  he  bade  him 
begone  and  trouble  no  more  those  to  whom  he 
had  brought  such  woe. 

"  Kill  me,"  he  repeated  to  Arethusa,  after 
Bellario  had  fled  in  terror.  "  Earth  cannot  bear 
us  both  at  once.  One  of  us  must  die  here." 

"  Let  it  be  me,  then.  I  shall  have  peace  in 
death." 

"  Then  guide  my  feeble  hand,  ye  gods  of  honor, 
for  justice  bids  me  strike.  Are  you  at  peace?" 

"  With  heaven  and  earth." 

"  May  they  divide  thy  soul  and  body." 

Fortunately,  a  countryman,  eager  to  see  the 
royal  party  at  the  chase,  had  sought  the  forest, 
and  came  upon  the  lovers  just  as  Philaster,  mad 
with  jealous  rage,  had  raised  his  hand  to  strike. 
He  caught  the  arm  of  the  frenzied  prince  in  time 
to  save  the  lady  from  death,  though  she  fell 
wounded. 

A  fight  ensued  between  Philaster  and  the 
countryman,  who  attacked  him  with  such  fury  as 
to  break  down  his  guard  and  wound  him.  Phi- 
laster, indeed,  was  pressed  so  closely  that,  unable 
longer  to  defend  himself,  he  was  forced  to  fly, 
leaving  his  assailant  in  possession  of  the  field. 

He  had  hardly  gone  when  Pharamond,  Dion, 


PHILASTERj   OR,  LOVE   LIES   BLEEDING.  59 

and  others  of  the  hunting  party  appeared,  in 
search  of  the  lost  princess.  To  their  surprise  and 
anger  they  saw  her  bleeding  before  them,  and  the 
countryman  with  blood  on  his  sword's  point. 
The  latter,  however,  quickly  declared  that  he 
had  fought  to  save,  not  to  hurt  her,  and  that- the 
assailant  had  escaped.  As  Arethusa  confirmed 
this,  Pharamond  bade  the  woodmen  present  to 
conduct  the  wounded  princess  to  the  king,  while 
he  and  the  others  set  out  in  search  of  her  assailant. 

"  By  this  hand,  if  I  find  the  villain,"  declared 
Pharamond,  boastfully,  "  I'll  not  leave  a  piece  of 
him  bigger  than  a  nut,  and  bring  him  all  in  my 
hat." 

"Nay,  if  you  find  him,  bring  him  to  me," 
asked  Arethusa,  in  fear  for  her  lover.  "  Leave  me 
to  study  a  punishment  great  as  his  fault." 

"I  will." 

"  But  swear." 

"  By  all  my  love,  I  will." 

Meanwhile  Bellario,  after  leaving  the  lovers, 
had  wandered  wearily  onward,  and  at  length, 
overcome  with  fatigue  and  hunger,  had  lain  down 
and  fallen  asleep  in  a  nook  of  the  forest.  By  the 
same  fortune  that  had  hitherto  guided  their  steps, 
Philaster,  in  his  flight,  followed  the  same  path, 
bleeding  as  he  went,  and  at  length  was  forced  to 
halt  near  where  Bellario  lay  in  deep  slumber. 

"  I  have  done  ill ;  my  conscience  calls  me  false, 
to  strike  at  her  who  would  not  strike  at  me," 
he  declared,  remorsefully.  "  And  while  I  fought 


60  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

she  surely  breathed  a  prayer  to  the  gods  to  guard 
me.  She  may  be  abused,  and  I  a  loathed  villain. 
Ah !  who  lies  here  ?  Bellario,  and  sleeping  ?  If 
he  be  guilty,  justice  is  at  fault  that  his  sleep 
should  be  so  sound,  and  mine,  whom  he  has 
wronged,  so  broken." 

He  paused  and  listened.  The  distant  cries  of 
the  pursuing  party  came  to  his  ears,  ringing  far 
through  the  green  forest  aisles. 

"  Hark !  I  am  pursued.  They  have  no  mark 
to  know  me  but  my  wounds.  If  she  be  true  she 
will  not  breathe  my  name ;  if  false,  let  mischief 
light  on  all  the  world  at  once.  Sword,  print  my 
wounds  upon  this  sleeping  boy,  and  let  him  stand 
for  me.  I  have  none  mortal,  and  will  not  hurt 
him  deeply." 

Bellario  sprang  up  as  the  keen  sword  pierced 
his  flesh ;  then  fell  again  with  a  cry  more  of  hope 
than  fear. 

"Death,  I  hope,  has  come !"  he  cried.  "Again, 
for  pity's  sake  !  strike  deeper  now !" 

"No,  Bellario;  take  your  revenge,"  cried  Phi- 
laster,  full  of  sudden  remorse.  "  Here  is  he  that 
struck  you.  This  luckless  hand  wounded  the 
princess ;  strike  me  as  I  did  you,  and  tell  my  fol- 
lowers you  got  these  hurts  in  staying  me.  Say 
what  you  will ;  I'll  second  it." 

Bellario  would  by  no  means  obey  this  dread 
command,  and  so  earnestly  bade  his  loved  master 
to  conceal  himself  that  he  at  length  consented. 
When  Pharamond  and  the  others  entered,  track- 


PHILASTER;  OR,  LOVE  LIES  BLEEDING.        61 

ing  the  fugitive  by  his  blood,  they  saw  only 
Bellario,  who  lay  bleeding  upon  the  earth. 

The  seeming  boy  claimed  at  first  to  have  been 
•wounded  by  beasts,  but,  when  they  taxed  him 
closely,  made  a  pretended  confession  that  he  had 
wounded  the  princess,  moved  by  anger  at  her  for 
having  dismissed  him  from  her  train.  As  they 
were  about  to  lead  him  off,  with  threats  of  tort- 
ure, Philaster,  who  had  heard  all  this  in  his 
covert,  broke  forth  and  bade  them  halt.  The 
self-abnegation  of  Bellario  had  at  length  con- 
vinced the  jealous  lover  that  his  suspicions  were 
false  and  his  lady  was  true,  and  he  now  loudly 
asserted  his  own  guilt  and  the  innocence  of  the 
devoted  boy. 

A  contest  ensued  between  the  two  as  to  who 
had  really  wounded  the  princess,  in  the  midst  of 
which  the  king  entered  with  his  daughter  and 
guards. 

"  Is  the  villain  taken?"  he  demanded. 

"There  are  two  here  that  confess  the  deed," 
said  Pharamond. 

"The  fellow  who  fought  with  him  will  point 
out  the  true  one,"  answered  the  king. 

"Ah  me!     I  fear  he  will,"  sighed  Arethusa. 

"Do  you  not  know  him,  daughter?" 

"No.     If  it  was  Philaster  he  was  disguised." 

"  I  was  so,  indeed — in  shameful  jealousy  and 
foul  suspicion,"  cried  Philaster.  "It  was  I  that 
struck  the  princess.  Do  with  me  what  you  will." 

"  Ambitious  fool !"  answered  the  king,  angrily. 
6 


62  TALES   FROM  THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"  You  have  laid  a  train  for  your  own  life.  Bear 
him  to  prison." 

"  Leave  him  to  me,  dear  father,"  pleaded  Are- 
thusa.  "  Leave  both  of  them.  They  laid  a  plot 
together  to  take  my  harmless  life.  Let  me  ap- 
point their  punishment." 

"  As  you  will,  daughter ;  take  them,  with  a 
guard.  Come,  princely  Pharamond  ;  this  business 
past,  we  may  go  on  to  your  intended  marriage." 

The  king's  concession  to  his  daughter  was  but 
in  seeming,  as  was  her  proposed  revenge.  He 
feared  Pbilaster  too  much  to  let  him  live,  now 
that  he  had  a  fair  excuse  to  put  him  to  death, 
and  hardly  were  they  back  in  the  city  than  he 
ordered  the  immediate  execution  of  the  prisoner. 

Fortunately  for  Philaster,  this  purpose  of  the 
king  was  suspected  by  his  friends,  and  Dion  and 
others  hastened  to  spread  the  news  through 
the  city,  with  the  design  of  rousing  a  revolt  in 
favor  of  the  threatened  prince.  As  for  Arethusa, 
when  the  command  came  to  her  from  her  father 
to  bring  out  to  his  death  the  prisoner  who  had 
been  committed  to  her  hands,  her  heart  was  like 
to  break.  She  hastened  to  the  prison  with  Bella- 
rio,  and  there  vowed  that  if  her  soul's  lord  died 
she  would  not  live  to  weep  for  him.  Bellario 
repeated  the  same  vow,  and  the  three  sought  the 
presence  of  the  king,  wearing  wedding  robes  and 
garlands.  The  angry  monarch  looked  at  them  in 
surprise. 

"  What  masque  is  this?"  he  haughtily  asked. 


PHILASTER;  OR,  LOVE  LIES  BLEEDING.        63 

"The  masque  of  truth,"  answered  Bellario. 
"  The  god  that  sings  his  holy  numbers  over  mar- 
riage vows  has  knit  these  noble  hearts,  and  here 
they  stand  your  children,  mighty  king." 

"  What  mean  you,  boy  ?" 

"  Sir,  if  you  love  plain  truth,  for  there's  no 
masquing  in  it,"  broke  in  Arethusa,  "this gentle- 
man, the  prisoner  you  gave  me,  has  become  my 
keeper.  You  see  him  here  my  husband." 

"  Your  husband  I"  exclaimed  the  king,  in  amaze- 
ment and  rage.  "  No  masque,  you  say  ?  Call  in 
the  captain  of  the  citadel ;  there  you  shall  keep 
your  wedding.  Blood  shall  put  out  your  mar- 
riage torches,  woman — no  more  my  daughter;  for 
here  I  shake  all  title  off  of  father." 

"I  repent  not,"  answered  Arethusa.  "Death 
has  for  me  no  terror,  so  long  as  Pharamond  is  not 
my  headsman." 

"  Sir,  let  me  speak,"  exclaimed  Philaster.  "  If 
you  aim  at  the  dear  life  of  this  sweet  innocent, 
you  are  a  tyrant  and  a  savage  monster;  your 
memory  shall  be  as  foul  behind  you,  as  you  are, 
living;  all  your  better  deeds  shall  be  in  water 
writ,  but  this  in  marble;  no  chronicle  but  shall 
speak  shame  of  you,  no  monument  be  able  to 
cover  this  base  murder.  If  you  have  a  soul, 
save  her  and  be  saved.  For  myself,  I  have  so 
long  expected  this  glad  hour,  it  is  a  joy  to  die." 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  hasty  entrance  of  a 
messenger,  who  cried, — 

"  The  king!     Where  is  the  king?     The  prince 


64  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

Pharamond  has  been  taken  prisoner  by  the  cit- 
izens, and  is  in  mortal  danger." 

"  Arm !  arm !"  cried  a  second  messenger,  enter- 
ing as  hastily.  "  The  whole  city  is  in  mutiny, 
led  by  an  angry  gray  ruffian,  who  swears  he  will 
rescue  the  lord  Philaster." 

"Away  with  these  prisoners  to  the  citadel!" 
cried  the  king.  "  See  they  are  kept  safely.  Leave 
it  to  me  to  cope  with  these  burghers." 

He  did  not  find  it  so  easy  to  cope  with  the 
burghers.  On  hearing,  through  Dion  and  others, 
of  the  danger  to  their  beloved  Philaster,  the 
citizens  had  risen  in  a  body,  and,  meeting  with 
Pharamond,  who  had  gone  out  to  see  the  city, 
they  had  seized  him  and  haled  him  with  them  to 
the  palace  gates,  where  they  threatened  to  rend 
him  limb  from  limb  if  Philaster  was  not  set  free. 

So  hot  and  threatening  was  their  rebellious 
spirit  that  the  king's  valor  quickly  turned  to  fear. 
They  threw  dirt  at  him,  drowned  his  voice  with 
yells  of  "  tyrant !"  and  demanded  Philaster,  none 
but  Philaster. 

"What  they  will  do  with  the  poor  prince  I 
know  not,"  cried  the  terrified  king.  "Run,  some 
one,  and  bring  the  lord  Philaster.  Speak  him 
fair;  call  him  prince  ;  treat  him  with  all  courtesy. 
Confound  them,  how  they  swarm  !" 

Philaster  had  not  yet  been  taken  from  the 
palace,  and  was  soon  brought  to  the  presence  of 
the  frightened  monarch,  who  was  ready  to  fall  on 
his  knees  before  him. 


PHILASTER;  OR,  LOVE  LIES  BLEEDING.        65 

"  Oh,  worthy  sir,  forgive  me  !"  he  cried,  trem- 
bling. "  I  have  wronged  you.  Take  her  you  love, 
and  with  her  ray  repentance  and  your  father's 
throne.  Only  calm  this  torrent  of  rebellion,  and, 
by  the  gods,  I  swear  to  do  you  justice  1" 

"Mighty  sir,  you  fill  me  with  new  life,"  an- 
swered Philaster.  "  Leave  me  to  stand  the  shock 
of  this  mad  sea-breach,  which  I  will  either  turn 
or  perish  with  it." 

Philaster  well  knew  that  he  was  in  no  danger 
from  the  rebels.  The  very  sight  of  his  face 
brought  from  them  glad  shouts  of  "Long  live 
Philaster!  the  brave  prince  Philaster!"  and  on 
his  assurance  of  his  safety  they  delivered  to  him 
the  captive  prince,  and  rolled  back  in  retreating 
waves  to  the  taverns,  to  spend  in  drink  the  gold 
he  had  lavished  on  them. 

"Thou  art  the  king  of  courtesy,"  cried  their 
captain.  "  Fall  off  again,  my  sweet  youths.  We 
will  have  music,  and  the  red  grape  shall  make  us 
dance.  A  fig  for  this  pewter  king  that  dares  to 
threaten  our  brave  prince  Philaster." 

Philaster  returned  with  Pharamond  to  the 
palace,  where  the  king  met  him  with  tears  of  joy, 
bidding  him  take  his  daughter  for  his  wedded 
wife,  and  with  her  the  crown  of  his  father's 
kingdom.  But  the  woes  of  the  lovers  were  not 
yet  ended.  Megra,  the  courtesan,  who  had  caused 
all  their  troubles,  now  repeated  her  foul  accusa- 
tion, with  such  show  of  knowledge  that  the  king 
turned  in  doubt  to  Philaster. 
VOL.  I.— e  o* 


66  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"  I  must  request  of  you  one  favor,"  he  asked. 
"  And  this  I  bid  you  swear  to." 

"By  the  powers  above,  I  swear,"  answered 
Philaster,  "  if  it  be  no  one's  death." 

"  Then  bear  that  boy  to  torture.  I  must  have 
the  truth  of  this  vile  charge.  M.y  daughter's 
fame  shall  not  rest  under  this  load  of  infamy." 

"  Call  back  your  words,  sir.  Let  me  sacrifice 
myself  in  proof  of  Arethusa's  virtue." 

He  drew  his  sword  and  offered  to  kill  himself, 
but  was  checked  by  Arethusa,  who  caught  his 
hand  in  both  her  own. 

"  To  the  torture  with  that  boy !"  cried  the  king. 

"  Oh,  kill  me,  gentlemen !"  exclaimed  Bellario. 

"  No,  but  we'll  have  the  truth  from  you." 

"  The  truth !  Oh,  sirs,  would  you  make  me 
break  a  vow  to  the  gods  ?" 

"  Yes,  ten  vows,  but  that  we  have  the  truth." 

"  Then  may  the  just  gods  forgive  me,  since  I 
must  speak,  or  have  my  secret  known  through 
torture.  Great  sir,  this  lady  lies  vilely.  Your 
daughter  is  pure  as  new-fallen  snow ;  and  to  prove 
it,  know — I  am  a  woman." 

"  A  woman !"  cried  all  present. 

"Yes,  sire,  by  name  Euphrasia,  and  this  my 
father."  She  laid  her  hand  on  old  Dion's  shoulder. 

"Euphrasia!  By  all  the  gods,  'tis  she  I"  cried 
Dion,  looking  keenly  in  her  face.  "  "What  means 
this,  you  baggage  ?  Is  this  your  pilgrimage  ?" 

"Love  bade  me  do  it.     Love  for  Philaster." 

"  Seize  that  woman !"  cried  the  king,  pointing 


PHILASTER,  j   OR,  LOVE   LIES   BLEEDING.  67 

to  Megra.  "  It  is  her  lying  tongue  has  done  all 
this.  To  death  with  her." 

"  Not  so,  my  royal  father,"  answered  Philaster. 
"  I  would  not  have  my  happiness  tarnished  by 
taking  revenge,  even  on  that  base  wretch.  Set 
her  free,  but  banish  her  from  your  kingdom." 

"  Be  it  so,"  rejoined  the  king.  "  But  let  her  not 
show  her  face  again  in  Calabria.  You,  Phara- 
mond,  shall  have  free  passage,  and  a  conduct  home 
worthy  your  high  descent.  As  for  this  disguised 
maiden, — but  tell  me  your  story,  Bellario.  How 
came  this  masquerade  ?" 

With  blushing  cheeks,  the  discovered  maiden 
told  what  the  reader  already  knows,  bow  she  had, 
from  love  of  Philaster.  assumed  a  disguise,  and 
thrown  herself  in  his  way,  that  she  might  at  least 
be  near  him  and  serve  him  as  a  page. 

"To  whom  shall  we  marry  you?"  asked  the 
king.  "  Search  out  your  mate ;  be  it  the  highest 
in  our  kingdom,  I  will  pay  your  dowry." 

"  I  shall  never  marry,"  she  sadly  answered.  "  I 
live  only  to  serve  the  princess." 

"  Which  you  freely  shall,"  remarked  Arethusa. 
"  Fear  not  my  jealousy,  though  you  love  my  lord 
as  truly  as  I  can." 

"Join  your  hands,  my  children,"  said  the  king 
to  Philaster  and  Aretbusa.  "  My  blessing  be 
yours.  Enjoy  your  love,  and  after  me  my  king- 
dom. Let  princes  learn  by  this  to  rule  the 
passions  of  their  blood ;  for  what  God  wills  can 
never  be  withstood." 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS, 

BY  PHILIP  MASSINGEK. 


[PHILIP  MASSINGER,  who  was  born  at  Salisbury 
in  1583,  and  educated  at  Oxford,  formed  one  of 
the  most  skilful  of  that  active  circle  of  play- 
wrights who  were  contemporary  with  Shake- 
speare. We  first  hear  of  him  as  a  dramatic  au- 
thor in  1614,  and  he  continued  to  produce  plays 
actively  till  his  death,  in  1639,  largely  in  collabo- 
ration with  other  authors,  and  particularly  with 
John  Fletcher.  His  most  masterly  comedies  are 
"  A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts,"  and  "  The  City 
Madam,"  the  former  of  which  we  treat,  as  it  is 
the  sole  production  of  Shakespeare's  contempo- 
raries which  still  holds  the  stage.  This  is  due 
to  the  fine  dramatic  opportunities  offered  by  the 
character  of  Sir  Giles  Overreach. 

These  plays  lack  warmth  and  geniality,  but  as 
satirical  studies  they  possess  the  strength  without 
the  heaviness  of  Ben  Jonson.  Massinger  was  a 
skilled  and  careful  playwright,  and  though  not 
powerful  from  a  literary  point  of  view,  was  a 
master  of  his  art,  few  writers  sui'passing  him  in 
general  dramatic  excellence.  Some  of  his  plays, 
as  Coleridge  says,  are  as  interesting  as  novels.] 
t>8 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.       69 

The  parish  in  which  Sir  Giles  Overreach,  a 
grasping  English  baronet  of  the  olden  time,  re- 
sided was  sadly  the  worse  for  his  presence.  The 
thriftless  and  the  thrifty  had  alike  been  made  the 
victims  of  his  avarice,  and  many  a  widow  and 
orphan  mourned  in  poverty  his  soulless  greed  and 
injustice.  By  taking  unfair  advantage  of  the 
misfortunes  and  follies  of  his  neighbors,  he  had 
added  to  his  estate  until  it  spread  over  miles  of 
territory,  every  foot  of  which  had  been  watered 
by  the  tears  of  those  whom  he  had  ruined.  In- 
dustry and  economy  were  no  safeguards  against 
his  base  practices.  "  I  must  have  all  men  sellers 
and  I  the  only  purchaser,"  he  said,  and  when  his 
neighbor,  Mr.  Frugal,  whose  land  lay  in  the  midst 
of  his  estate,  and  whose  economy  kept  him  from 
debt,  refused  to  sell  or  exchange,  Sir  Giles  took 
the  most  unjust  means  to  rob  him  of  his  property. 
Buying  a  cottage  near  his  manor,  he  laid  plans  to 
have  men  break  down  his  fences,  ride  over  his 
grain,  injure  his  cattle,  and  set  fire  to  his  barns, 
hoping  thus  to  draw  him  into  lawsuits  and  to 
beggar  him  by  costs.  Two  or  three  years  of  such 
courses  would  force  Frugal  to  sell  his  lands,  which 
Sir  Giles  stood  ready  to  buy  at  a  sacrifice,  and 
add  to  his  overgrown  estate. 

Thus  by  methods  fair  and  foul  the  villanous 
baronet  had  spread  ruin  far  and  wide,  and  threat- 
ened, if  he  lived,  to  bring  half  the  county  within 
his  ill-gotten  manor.  Among  those  whom  he  had 
ruined  was  his  own  nephew,  Frank  Wellborn,  a 


70  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

young  gentleman  of  good  estate,  whose  spend- 
thrift habits  had  made  him  an  easy  prey  to  his 
vulture-like  uncle.  Young  Wellborn  had  been  a 
close  friend  to  a  Mr.  Allworth,  and  had  aided 
him  greatly  in  money  difficulties  which  were  due 
to  the  crafty  practices  of  Sir  Giles.  In  the  end 
Allworth  saved  himself  from  ruin  by  marrying  a 
rich  heiress  of  the  vicinity.  He  died  a  few  years 
afterwards,  leaving  his  son  by  a  former  marriage 
to  the  care  of  his  loving  widow.  When  tbis  boy 
was  well  grown  Lady  Allworth  placed  him  as  page 
to  Lord  Lovell,  a  worthy  nobleman  of  her  ac- 
quaintance. But  before  this  time  the  youth  had 
fallen  in  love  with  Margaret,  the  only  child  of  Sir 
Giles  Overreach,  who  warmly  returned  his  affec- 
tion. Their  boy  and  girl  love  had  to  be  kept  a  close 
secret  from  Margaret's  avaricious  father,  who 
hoped  to  add  to  his  importance  by  marrying  his 
beautiful  daughter  to  Lord  Lovell,  from  whom 
he  expected  a  visit. 

As  for  the  dissolute  Wellborn,  he  had  gone 
steadily  on  his  downward  career  till,  at  the  time 
our  story  opens,  he  was  in  a  state  of  hopeless 
poverty.  His  estate  had  vanished,  his  money  was 
spent,  his  clothes  were  little  better  than  rags,  and 
from  being  a  gentleman  of  wealth,  he  had  become 
almost  a  penniless  tramp,  discarded  by  the  uncle 
who  had  robbed  him,  looked  upon  with  scorn  and 
disgust  by  his  former  equals,  and  treated  with  con- 
tempt and  contumely  by  many  who  had  once  been 
far  below  him  in  the  social  scale. 


A   NEW   WAY   TO   PAY   OLD   DEBTS.  71 

The  ill  respect  with  which  the  common  people 
treated  this  ruined  spendthrift  was  in  part  due  to 
his  uncle,  who,  having  robbed  him  of  his  wealth, 
now  wished  to  relieve  his  eyes  from  the  unpleasant 
sight  of  his  ragged  person.  He  therefore  ordered 
his  parasite,  Mart-all,  to  use  all  means  to  drive  his 
nephew  to  despair.  The  tapster  who  had  given 
him  shelter  was  bidden  to  turn  him  out  of  doors. 
The  tenants  of  Sir  Giles  were  forbidden  to  give 
him  so  much  aid  as  a  crust  of  mouldy  bread,  his 
cruel  uncle  hoping  that  he  might  die  of  cold  and 
hunger.  Finally,  at  a  loss  how  to  get  rid  of  this 
living  witness  to  his  ill  deeds,  the  baronet  bade 
Marrall  to  counsel  his  starving  nephew  that  it  was 
better  to  steal  than  beg.  "  Do  anything  to  work 
him  to  despair,"  he  said,  "  and  if  I  can  prove  that 
he  has  but  robbed  a  hen-roost,  not  all  the  world 
shall  save  him  from  the  gallows." 

Sir  Giles  reckoned  a  little  hastily  in  hoping  thus 
easily  to  dispose  of  Frank  Wellborn.  In  truth, 
events  were  now  ripening  which  were  destined  to 
lead  to  his  own  ruin,  and  bring  to  an  end  his  long 
career  of  greed  and  oppression.  Wellborn,  disso- 
lute as  he  had  been,  and  much  as  his  mad  course 
had  turned  all  worthy  people  against  him,  was 
not  a  fool,  and  when  he  saw  that  his  crafty  uncle 
was  seeking  his  final  ruin,  he  devised  a  shrewd 
scheme  to  get  the  better  of  the  greedy  villain, 
and  even  force  him  to  open  his  own  swollen 
coffers  in  his  behalf. 

Tapwell,  the  tavern-keeper,  and  Froth,  his  wife, 


72  TALES   PROM   THE  DRAMATISTS. 

lost  no  time  in  obeying  the  orders  sent  secretly  to 
them  by  their  rich  landlord.  They  refused  further 
food  and  drink  to  their  late  good  customer,  and 
when  he  indignantly  threatened  them,  they  spoke 
of  sending  for  the  constable  if  he  should  but  lift 
his  hand  against  them. 

"Dare  you  talk  thus,  you  unthankful  villain?" 
demanded  Wellborn  of  the  tapster.  "Are  not 
your  house,  and  all  you  have,  my  gifts?" 

"  I  find  it  not  in  chalk,"  was  the  insolent  an- 
swer. "  Timothy  Tapwell  keeps  no  other  regis- 
ter." 

"  Am  not  I  he  whose  visits  fed  and  clothed  you  ? 
Were  you  not  born  on  my  father's  land,  and  proud 
to  be  a  drudge  in  his  house  ?" 

"What  I  was  matters  not;  what  you  are  is 
apparent,"  and  Tapwell  proceeded  to  describe  the 
course  of  Wellborn's  profligacy  and  downfall, 
until  his  angry  benefactor  could  bear  it  no 
longer,  and  used  his  fists  and  feet  on  the  insulting 
tapster  with  such  effect  that  only  the  entrance  of 
young  Allworth  saved  him  from  broken  bones. 

"  Hold,  Frank  !"  cried  Allworth.  "Such  scum 
as  these  are  not  worth  vour  ano-er." 

•/  O 

"  Then  let  them  vanish,  creeping  on  their  hands 
and  knees,"  cried  Wellborn,  furiously.  "  If  they 
dare  refuse  or  grumble,  I'll  beat  them  to  a  jelly." 

The  tapster  and  his  wife  were  glad  enough  to 
escape,  even  on  such  humiliating  terms,  and  crept 
humbly  away  from  their  incensed  customer,  leav- 
ing him  master  of  the  field.  After  they  had  gone, 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.       73 

a  conversation  began  between  the  two  friends,  the 
subject  of  their  colloquy  being  the  widow  All- 
worth. 

Young  Allworth  remarked  that  she  was  still 
a  deep  mourner  for  her  late  husband,  and  that, 
though  she  had  many  suitors,  she  had  shown  no 
favor  to  any  of  them.  As  for  himself,  she  had 
treated  him  so  kindly  and  generously  as  to  win 
his  deepest  love.  Here  Wellborn  interrupted  him, 
telling  him  he  well  knew  that  he  had  not  given 
all  his  love  to  his  step-mother,  but  had  saved  a 
generous  portion  of  it  for  Margaret,  the  daughter 
of  Cormorant  Overreach.  He  earnestly  advised 
him  to  dismiss  from  his  mind  all  hope  of  winning 
the  young  lady,  and  to  plant  his  affections  in  some 
more  hopeful  soil. 

"  Can  you  imagine,"  he  said,  "  that  Sir  Giles 
Overreach,  who  to  make  her  great  in  swelling 
titles  would  cut  his  neighbor's  throat,  will  ever 
consent  to  yield  her  to  you?  Give  over  such 
wild  hopes,  and  seek  some  safer  flame." 

To  this  advice,  however,  the  young  lover  would 
not  listen.  In  his  turn  he  advised  his  friend 
to  consider  the  desperate  plight  he  was  himself 
in,  and  offered  him  a  part  of  his  small  allowance 
to  help  him  in  this  strait. 

"  Money  from  you !"  cried  Wellborn.  "  No,  my 
lad.  Though  I  am  turned  out  of  my  alehouse, 
dressed  in  rags,  and  know  not  where  to  eat,  drink, 
or  sleep,  I  will  not  accept  your  charity,  much  as 
I  thank  you  for  the  offer.  Since  in  my  madness 

D  -  7 


74  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

I  have  broken  my  estate,  in  my  right  wits  I'll 
mend  it  without  aid  from  another;  or  at  the 
worst,  will  die  and  be  forgotten." 

The  scheme  which  Wellborn  had  devised  to 
better  his  fortunes,  of  which  we  have  above 
spoken,  was  likely  to  prove  a  difficult  one  to  carry 
into  effect.  It  depended  on  the  co-operation  of 
Lady  Allwortb,  whose  prudent  course  of  life 
would  certainly  make  her  ill  disposed  to  enter 
into  alliance  with  a  profligate  spendthrift.  In 
fact,  when  her  step-son  returned  home  from  his 
conversation  with  Wellborn,  she  warned  him 
against  holding  any  future  intercourse  with  the 
ruined  prodigal. 

"  Beware  ill  company,"  she  advised  him.  "  From 
one  man  in  particular  I  warn  you,  that  dissolute 
Wellborn.  Not  because  he  is  poor,  for  that  rather 
claims  your  pity ;  but  because  he  is  debauched, 
and  fallen  into  vicious  courses.  Your  father  loved 
him,  it  is  true  ;  but  had  he  lived  to  see  him  as  he 
is  he  would  have  cast  him  off,  as  you  must  do." 

"  Dear  mother,  trust  me  to  obey  all  your  com- 
mands," answered  the  youth,  dutifully. 

Yet,  in  despite  of  this  wise  and  prudent  advice, 
the  day  was  not  over  before  Lady  Allworth  had 
forgiven  Wellborn  his  profligacy,  and  admitted 
him  to  an  intimacy  far  greater  than  that  against 
which  she  had  warned  her  son.  The  motive  for 
this  sudden  change  of  opinion  we  have  next  to 
describe. 

It  was  but  an  hour  or  two  after  Wellborn's 


A   NEW   WAY   TO   PAY   OLD   DEBTS.  75 

conversation  with  his  young  friend,  when  he 
entered  Lady  Alhvorih's  house,  seeking  an  inter- 
view with  that  lady.  He  was  destined  to  meet 
with  a  series  of  insults,  hard  for  his  hot  blood  to 
bear.  The  first  person  he  met  was  his  uncle,  Sir 
Giles,  who  was  one  of  Lady  Allworth's  suitors, 
but  not  a  favored  one.  Angry  at  being  refused 
admittance  to  the  lady,  he  turned  on  his  nephew 
with  snarling  fury,  crying  out:  "Avaunt,  beg- 
gar !  if  ever  you  presume  to  own  me  more,  I'll  have 
you  caged  and  whipped !"  With  these  words  he 
stalked  furiously  away. 

The  servants  of  Lady  Allworth  followed  this 
example,  greeting  the  visitor  with  insult;  and 
even  young  Allworth,  who  happened  to  enter  the 
hall,  felt  obliged  to  obey  his  mother's  command, 
and  turned  in  confused  silence  away  from  his  late 
friend. 

"  This  grows  better  and  better,"  cried  "Wellborn. 
"He  drops  my  acquaintance  also.  Come,  then, 
you  surly  dogs,  here  I  am;  who  will  put  me 
out  ?" 

At  this  moment  Lady  Allworth  entered,  and 
looked  with  surprise  on  the  scene  before  her. 

"  What  means  this?"  she  asked. 

"  Madam,  I  desire  some  words  with  you,"  said 
Wellborn,with  a  courtesy  that  contrasted  strangely 
with  his  ill  attire.  "  I  have  met  with  but  ragged 
entertainment  from  your  grooms ;  but  hope  from 
yourself  to  receive  usage  more  fitting  to  him  who 
was  your  husband's  friend." 


76  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"  I  am  amazed  at  your  rudeness  in  forcing  your- 
self into  my  bouse,"  answered  Lady  Allworth, 
severely.  li  Do  you  think  that  I,  who  since  my 
husband's  death  have  denied  my  presence  to  the 
best  men  of  this  country,  can  fall  so  low  as  to 
exchange  words  with  you?  Forbear  my  house, 
thou  son  of  infamy !  Force  me  not  to  take  meas- 
ures to  make  you  keep  a  respectful  distance  from 
me." 

"  Scorn  me  not,  good  lady,"  answered  Wellborn, 
quietly.  "  Hear  me  awhile,  at  least.  You  can 
but  grant  that  the  blood  which  runs  in  my  arm 
is  as  noble  as  that  which  fills  your  veins.  Your 
jewels  and  rich  attire,  and  the  flattery  of  your 
servants,  are  no  virtues  in  you ;  nor  are  these  rags 
and  my  poverty  vices  in  me.  Your  fame  is  fairer 
far  than  mine,  it  is  true,  and  in  nothing  greater 
than  in  the  pious  sorrow  you  have  shown  for  your 
late  noble  husband." 

Lady  Allworth  started,  and  tears  came  into 
her  eyes  at  these  words. 

"Have  you  more  to  say?"  she  asked  more 
gently. 

"  Once,  madam,  your  husband  was  almost  as 
low  in  his  fortunes  as  I  am.  Wants,  debts,  and 
quarrels  lay  heavy  on  him.  Think  it  not  a  boast 
in  me  when  I  say  that  I  relieved  him,  and  in  his 
quarrels  seconded  his  sword  with  mine.  When 
he  was  sunk  in  men's  opinions  and  in  his  own 
hopes,  it  was  I  that  took  him  by  the  hand  and  sot 
him  upright." 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.       77 

"  I  have  heard  of  this,  and  regret  that  I  spoke 
so  harshly,  Mr.  Wellborn,"  answered  the  lady. 

"  For  his  sake,  in  that  I  was  his  friend,  I  pray 
you  not  to  contemn  me." 

"  I  beg  pardon  for  what  is  past,  and  will  redeem 
it. — Steward,  give  this  gentleman  a  hundred 
pounds." 

"  On  no  terms,  madam !  Think  you  I  am  here 
for  that  ?  I  will  not  beg  or  borrow  sixpence  of 
you.  Yet  I  have  a  suit  to  make, — may  we  speak 
apart  ?" 

Lady  Allworth,  touched  despite  herself  by  her 
visitor's  words  and  manner,  led  the  way  to  a  place 
out  of  hearing  of  the  servants,  where  an  earnest 
whispered  conversation  took  place  between  her 
and  Wellborn. 

"  Your  request  is  granted,"  she  said  at  length. 
"  I  cannot  better  repay  your  services  to  my  hus- 
band. Is  there  nothing  more  ?" 

"Nothing,  unless  you  please  to  charge  your 
servants  to  waste  some  show  of  respect  on  me." 

This  request  she  obeyed,  and  parted  from  her 
shabby  guest  with  much  show  of  amity. 

The  agreement  which  Frank  Wellborn  had 
made  with  Lady  Alhvorth  was  one  that  was 
destined  to  create  much  surprise.  Since  her  hus- 
band's death  she  had  worn  deep  mourning  and 
kept  in  strict  seclusion,  refusing  to  see  the  various 
gentlemen  who  called  upon  her  with  purpose  to 
sue  for  her  hand  and  estate.  Yet  she  had  now 
agreed,  out  of  gratitude  for  Wellborn's  afiection 
7* 


78  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

for  and  aid  to  her  deeply-mourned  husband,  to 
give  up  her  seclusion  in  favor  of  a  houseless  and 
ragged  profligate,  to  change  her  mourning  robes 
for  gay  attire,  and  in  all  seeming  to  accept  this 
lately  despised  vagabond  for  her  lover.  Only  an 
extreme  feeling  of  gratitude  could  have  produced 
such  a  change,  yet  Lady  Allworth,  having  once 
agreed  to  it,  was  ready  to  carry  out  her  promise 
to  the  full,  whatever  the  neighboring  gentry  might 
think  of  her  conduct. 

The  cunningly-devised  scheme  of  the  two  con- 
spirators was  first  played  upon  Marrall,  Sir  Giles's 
parasite.  This  time-serving  wretch  had,  as  already 
stated,  been  ordered  by  Sir  Giles  to  counsel  Well- 
born to  robbery,  his  crafty  uncle  hoping  thus  to 
bring  him  within  the  grasp  of  the  severe  laws  of 
that  period.  Marrall,  however,  found  his  hoped- 
for  victim  in  no  humor  to  be  hung  for  theft. 

"Thanks  for  your  generous  advice."  he  said; 
"  I  am  not  ready  to  take  it ;  but,  as  you  are  so 
kind,  I  will  be  kinder,  and  invite  you  to  dine  with 
me." 

"  Under  what  hedge,  I  pray  you  ?  Or  at  whose 
cost  ?  What  footpads  are  your  hosts  ?"  was 
Marrall's  scornful  demand. 

"  We  shall  dine  at  the  house  of  a  gallant  lady, 
my  worthy  sir ;  and  not  in  her  kitchen,  but  with 
heraelf  as  hostess." 

"Ah !  with  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  or  the  queen 
of  fairies  ?  It  must  be  an  enchanted  dinner  you 
invite  me  to." 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAT  OLD  DEBTS.       79 

"  What  think  you  of  Lady  Allworth,  knave  ?" 

"  I  think  your  brain  is  cracked,  beyond  hope." 

"  Wait  till  you  see  with  what  respect  I  am 
entertained." 

"  With  choice  of  dog-whips,  no  doubt.  What, 
you !  in  this  attire !"  and  he  looked  with  high  dis- 
dain on  Wellborn's  much-frayed  clothing.  "  Do 
you  ever  hope  to  pass  her  doorkeeper?" 

"  Come ;  trust  your  own  eyes,  if  you  trust  not 
my  words.  It  is  not  far,  and  doubtless  dinner  is 
ready  to  serve." 

A  few  minutes  brought  them  to  Lady  Allworth's 
door.  Wellborn  knocked  boldly,  while  Marrall, 
who  knew  well  the  contempt  which  the  gentry 
of  the  neighborhood  felt  for  his  profligate  com- 
panion, expected  to  see  him  driven  from  the  door 
with  scorn.  What  then  was  his  surprise  to  find 
the  servants  meet  him  with  low  bows,  as  an 
honored  guest,  while  young  Allworth,  who  was 
present,  begged  pardon  for  his  recent  abruptness, 
and  offered  his  best  services. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  come,"  said  the  butler. 
"  Until  I  know  your  pleasure  I  cannot  serve  up 
my  lady's  dinner." 

"  His  pleasure !"  exclaimed  Marrall  to  himself. 
"  Is  this  some  vision,  or  are  these  men  all  mad  ?" 

"  I  have  grouse  and  quail,"  continued  the  butler, 
"  or  turkey  if  you  prefer.  My  lady  bade  me  ask 
you  what  sauce  is  best  to  your  taste." 

"Good  Lord  deliver  us!"  groaned  the  perplexed 
parasite.  "  Sauce  to  his  taste !  Why,  to  my  cer- 


80  TALES    FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

tain  knowledge,  for  a  twelvemonth  he  has  had  no 
better  diet  than  cheese-parings  on  week-days  and 
brown  bread  on  Sundays." 

Wellborn,  with  a  sly  smile  at  the  astonishment 
of  his  companion,  proceeded  to  state  his  preference 
as  to  sauces,  after  which  the  butler  withdrew  with 
an  humble  bow. 

"  What  think  you  of  the  hedge  we  shall  dine 
under?"  queried  Wellborn. 

"Say  no  more,  sir,  say  no  more,  unless  you 
would  drive  me  quite  out  of  my  wits." 

Marrall  was  not  yet  at  the  end  of  his  surprises. 
Lady  Allworth  met  her  guest  with  the  formal 
kiss  which  was  then  the  fashion  among  equals, 
and  gave  him  permission  to  take  a  second  salute 
from  her  lips,  as  due  to  such  a  friend.  Wellborn 
begged  her  instead  to  salute  his  companion,  and, 
on  the  lady's  showing  a  willingness  to  comply, 
the  low-born  wretch  was  so  overcome  that  he  fell 
on  his  face  to  the  floor  and  begged  the  honor  of 
kissing  her  foot. 

"  Nay,  rise,  sir,"  said  the  hostess.  "  Since  you 
are  so  humble,  I'll  exalt  you.  You  shall  dine  with 
me  to-day." 

"  At  your  table  ?  I  am  scarce  good  enough  to 
sit  with  your  steward." 

"  You  are  too  modest ;  I  will  not  be  denied," 
answered  the  lady,  graciously. 

The  dinner  was  a  peculiar  one.  Marrall,  who 
had  never  before  sat  at  a  lady's  table,  demeaned 
himself  so  awkwardly  in  his  new  dignity  that  he 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.       81 

became  a  laughing-stock  to  the  servants.  "When 
the  lady  drank  to  him,  at  Wellborn's  suggestion, 
Marrall  seized  a  dish  in  response,  and  pledged 
her  in  whitebroth.  And  when  the  steward 
brought  him  wine,  he  rose  from  his  chair,  and 
with  an  obsequious  bow,  humbly  thanked  his 
worship. 

At  the  end  of  the  dinner,  indeed,  the  lady,  on 
leaving  the  table,  found  her  servants  so  overcome 
with  laughter  that  she  sternly  reproved  them, 
bidding  them  remember  that  whoever  she  deemed 
worthy  to  sit  at  her  table  was  no  subject  for  their 
mirth.  Then  to  Wellborn  she  said,  "  Good-day, 
dear  sir.  Bear  in  mind  that  to  me  you  are  ever 
welcome,  as  to  a  house  that  is  your  own." 

When  they  were  fairly  out  of  the  house  the 
pettifogging  parasite  was  ready  to  fall  down  and 
worship  his  companion.  He  walked  with  his  hat 
off,  as  one  too  humble  to  remain  covered  in  the 
presence  of  "Tour  Worship,"  as  he  called  him, 
and  in  the  end  pressed  upon  him  a  present  of 
twenty  pounds,  that  he  might  provide  himself 
with  better  clothes. 

"  Come,  come,  I'll  not  forget  you,  friend  Mar- 
rail."  said  Wellborn,  laughingly.  "  When  we  are 
married,  and  my  lady's  estate  is  mine,  it  may  be 
that  you  shall  profit  by  it.  And  now,  good-day. 
I  hope  you  liked  my  hedge-side  dining-hall." 

Wellborn  walked  away,  leaving  his  companion 
lost  in  wonder. 

"  To  think  of  it !"  he  stammered.     "  I  and  Sir 
VOL.  I.—/ 


82  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

Giles  both  so  out  in  our  calculations  of  this  man's 
fortune !  "Well,  well,  Master  Wellborn,  you  are  a 
goose  ready  to  be  plucked  again.  Trust  me  to 
help  myself  to  a  fair  share  of  your  feathers." 

As  he  stood  lost  in  a  deep  soliloquy,  Sir  Giles 
appeared  and  questioned  him  as  to  how  he  had 
succeeded  in  his  plot  to  make  a  thief  of  Well- 
born. Marrall  told  him  the  surprising  story  of 
what  had  happened,  a  narrative  which  threw 
Sir  Giles  into  a  furious  passion.  He  called  his 
parasite  a  dolt  and  liar,  and  told  him  that  he  had 
been  cheated  by  a  beggar's  plot,  worked  by  ser- 
vants and  chambermaids.  When  Marrall  went 
on  to  say  that  he  had  offered  Wellborn  twenty 
pounds  in  money  and  his  own  horse  to  ride  on, 
the  angry  baronet  became  so  incensed  that  he 
knocked  him  down. 

"  Take  that  to  drive  the  lying  spirit  out  of  you," 
he  exclaimed. 

'•  Oh,  oh,  sir,  it  is  gone  ! — I  saw  no  lady,  on  my 
honor." 

"  Get  up,  then.  Here's  a  crown  to  pay  for  my 
blow." 

"  I  must  yet  suffer.  But  my  time  may  come," 
muttered  Marrall,  in  suppressed  rage. 

"  What's  that,  sirrah !     Do  you  grumble  ?" 

"  No,  sir !  Oh,  no,  Sir  Giles,  I  am  your  very 
humble  servant." 

At  the  time  these  events  were  taking  place,  a 
gentleman  of  much  importance  to  our  story  was 
approaching  that  locality.  This  was  Lord  Lovell, 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAT  OLD  DEBTS.       83 

who  had  ridden  thither  to  pay  his  promised  visit 
to  Sir  Giles,  Lady  Allworth,  and  others  of  his 
friends.  As  he  approached  the  residence  of  his 
host,  he  conversed  earnestly  with  Allworth,  who 
had  joined  him  in  a  state  of  deep  distress,  for  he 
knew  well  the  purpose  of  Sir  Giles's  invitation, 
and  feared  that  the  charms  of  Margaret  must 
win  the  love  of  his  noble  master.  Lord  Lovell 
sought  to  reassure  him,  declaring  that  he  had  not 
come  thither  to  rob  him  of  his  love,  and  that, 
however  great  might  be  the  temptation  offered 
by  Margaret's  beauty  and  her  father's  wealth,  he 
should  consider  his  own  honor  first  of  all.  He 
bade  Allworth  free  himself  from  jealous  fears, 
and  trust  him  that  all  would  be  well  in  the  end. 

It  would  by  no  means  have  pleased  Sir  Giles  to 
hear  this.  Now  that  he  had  a  superabundance 
of  wealth,  his  ambition  was  set  upon  rank,  and 
he  would  have  given  his  soul  to  be  called  noble, 
or  even  to  be  able  to  greet  Margaret  as  "  My 
Honorable  daughter,"  and  to  stand  bareheaded 
before  her  until  she  should  say,  "  Father,  you 
forget  yourself." 

Therefore,  when  news  of  Lord  Lovell's  coming 
was  brought  him,  he  gave  orders  to  make  a  dis- 
play of  all  the  magnificence  his  house  could  afford. 
No  plate  of  less  value  than  pure  gold  was  to  be 
shown,  the  choicest  linens  were  to  be  laid  out, 
and  precious  perfumes  spread  through  the  rooms. 
As  to  the  entertainment,  he  left  this  in  the  hands 
of  his  creature,  Justice  Greedy,  a  fellow  who,  to 


84  TALES  FROM  THE  DRAMATISTS. 

feast  daily  at  a  full  table,  would  have  sent  half 
the  parish  to  prison. 

While  the  servants  were  busied  in  getting  the 
house  in  order  for  the  noble  guest,  and  Greedy 
was  giving  his  orders  in  the  kitchen,  Sir  Giles 
sent  for  Margaret,  told  her  of  his  purposes,  and 
bade  her  use  all  her  charms  to  win  the  love  of 
the  expected  visitor.  In  fact,  so  far  did  he  go  in 
his  instructions,  that  he  even  counselled  her  to 
yield  herself  to  Lovell  as  his  mistress,  declaring 
that  he  would  force  him  to  heal  her  wounded 
honor  by  marriage. 

Margaret,  deeply  hurt  by  her  father's  words, 
left  the  room  in  tears,  just  as  Lord  Lovell  entered 
in  company  with  his  page.  The  first  greeting 
had  hardly  been  exchanged  when  the  visitor, 
greatly  to  Sir  Giles's  pleasure,  asked  to  be  in- 
troduced to  his  fair  daughter.  When  Margaret 
entered,  in  response  to  her  father's  command, 
Lord  Lovell  greeted  her  with  such  a  show  of 
respect,  and  led  her  aside  into  so  close  a  conver- 
sation, that  two  persons  were  strongly  affected, 
— her  father  with  delight,  and  Allworth  with 
despair. 

"Close  at  it!  whispering!  this  is  excellent!" 
said  Sir  Giles  to  himself.  "The  girl  has  come  to 
her  senses."  He  drew  closer,  seeking  to  over- 
hear their  conversation,  but  was  interrupted  by 
Justice  Greedy,  who  ran  in  with  loud  complaints 
that  the  cook  had  refused  to  roast  the  fawn  with 
a  Norfolk  dumpling  in  its  belly,  and  to  dish  up 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.       85 

the  woodcock  with  toast  and  butter ;  all  of  which 
Greedy  held  to  be  delinquencies  next  to  high 
treason. 

By  the  time  Sir  Giles  had  quieted  his  greedy 
friend,  Lord  Lovell  and  Margaret  had  separated. 
They  had  in  the  interval  matured  a  plan  which 
he  himself  would  have  deemed  worse  than  high 
treason,  for  the  noble  lord  had  been  looking  after 
the  interests  of  his  page,  and  laying  a  plot  by 
which  All  worth  might  win  his  lady-love. 

"  How  does  your  lordship  find  her  ?"  asked  Sir 
Giles,  with  a  low  reverence. 

"Modest  and  shy,  my  dear  sir,"  answered 
Lovell.  "  I  must  feel  my  way  to  her  affections 
with  a  love-letter  or  two,  which,  with  your  good 
will,  my  page  shall  deliver." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  sir.  Your  hand,  good 
Master  Allworth  ;  my  house  is  ever  open  to  you." 

"It  was  shut  till  now,"  muttered  Allworth, 
aside. 

They  were  at  this  moment  interrupted — much 
to  the  torment  of  Justice  Greedy,  who  feared 
that  the  dinner  would  be  spoiled — by  the  sound 
of  a  coach,  and  the  next  minute  the  door  was 
thrown  open  and  Lady  Allworth  entered,  es- 
corted by  Wellborn.  At  this  surprising  appari- 
tion Sir  Giles  stood  like  one  frozen  to  stone,  while 
Marrall  whispered  in  his  ear:  "Am  I  a  dolt? 
Has  the  spirit  of  lies  entered  me?" 

Heedless  of  the  sensation  her  entrance  had 
occasioned,  the  lady  kissed  Margaret,  chided 
8 


86  TALES   FROM   THE    DRAMATISTS. 

Lord  Lovell  pleasantly  for  not  first  stopping  at 
her  house,  greeted  Sir  Giles,  and  asked  Man-all 
with  a  smile  why  he  dined  no  more  with  her. 

"Wellborn  had  made  no  change  in  his  attire, 
being  still  in  his  ragged  doublet,  but  Lady  All- 
worth  had  laid  aside  her  mourning  dress  for  rich 
and  costly  robes,  and  the  contrast  was  striking 
between  them  as  she  now  turned  and  presented 
him  to  the  company. 

"This  gentleman,"  she  said,  ''however  coarse 
without,  is  fine  and  fair  within,  and  may,  before 
many  days,  rank  himself  with  some  that  have 
contemned  him.  Sir  Giles  Overreach,  if  I  am 
welcome,  he  must  be  so  too." 

"  My  dear  nephew,"  said  Sir  Giles,  with  a  con- 
cealed grimace,  "  you  have,  in  faith,  been  too  long 
a  stranger.  Let  it  be  mended,  I  pray  you 
heartily." 

After  some  further  conversation,  in  which  Sir 
Giles  failed  to  recover  from  his  astonishment, 
dinner  was  announced,  and  the  guests  filed  out, 
Wellborn  escorting  Lady  Allworth  at  her  own 
request. 

During  the  meal  the  astounded  Sir  Giles 
watched  her  closely,  and  saw  in  her  manner  so 
many  signs  of  loving  infatuation  for  her  ragged 
escort  that  he  could  no  longer  sit  in  silence,  but 
left  the  room  in  haste  before  his  guests  had  risen 
from  the  table.  Marrall  followed  him. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  the  whole  board  is  troubled  at 
your  rising." 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.       87 

"  No  matter ;  I'll  excuse  it.  Marrall,  watch  an 
opportunity  to  bid  my  nephew  speak  with  me  iu 
private." 

"  Who,  the  ragged  rogue  the  lady  scorned  to 
look  on?" 

"  Go  to  :  you  are  a  wag,  sir." 

"  See,  she  comes,"  answered  Marrall.  "  She 
cannot  be  without  him." 

"  With  your  favor,  sir,  I  shall  make  bold  to 
take  a  turn  or  two  in  your  rare  garden,"  said 
Lady  Allvvorth,  entering  with  Wellborn. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  use  it." 

"  Come,  Mr.  Wellborn,"  she  said,  turning 
smilingly  to  her  escort. 

"Grosser  and  grosser,"  cried  Sir  Giles;  "why, 
the  woman  fairly  dotes  on  him !  Faith,  if  she 
is  to  be  his,  he  must  be  mine." 

Not  long  afterwards  Lady  Allworth's  coach 
was  called.  Lord  Lovell  offered  to  accompany 
her  home,  as  Sir  Giles  had  requested  his  nephew  to 
remain  for  a  short  conference. 

"  Stay  not  long,  sir,"  said  the  lady  to  Wellborn, 
as  she  left  the  room,  bending  upon  him  what 
seemed  a  look  of  affection. 

"  You  do  not  know  my  nature,  nephew,"  said 
Sir  Giles,  turning  with  a  crafty  smile  to  Wellborn. 
"  We  worldly  men  are  not  given  to  lift  the  falling ; 
but  now  that  I  see  you  in  a  way  to  rise,  you  will 
find  me  ready  and  willing  to  assist  you.  This 
rich  lady  loves  you  heartily ;  that  is  apparent." 

"  No,  no,  Sir  Giles ;  it  is  but  compassion." 


88  TALES   FROM   THE  DRAMATISTS. 

"At  any  rate  you  must  throw  off  this  base 
shape.  She  shall  not  say  she  married  a  nephew 
of  mine  like  a  beggar,  or  in  debt." 

"  He  is  thrusting  his  own  head  into  the  noose," 
said  Wellborn,  gleefully,  to  himself.  "  That  saves 
me  labor." 

"  You  have  a  trunk  of  rich  clothes  in  pawn,  not 
far  from  here.  I'll  redeem  them.  As  for  your 
petty  debts,  you  shall  have  a  thousand  pounds  to 
cut  them  off." 

"  Here's  an  uncle,  indeed  !  Who  dare  say  now 
that  Sir  Giles  is  hard-hearted  ?" 

"  No  thanks,  I  pray  you.  My  coach,  knaves, 
for  my  nephew.  To-morrow  I  will  visit  you." 

Had  the  crafty  usurer  seen  the  laughter  of 
his  intended  dupe  as  he  rode  away,  the  thousand 
pounds  might  have  been  long  in  coming.  As  it 
was,  his  scheming  brain  was  already  busy  laying 
plans  how  to  add  to  his  estate  the  rich  manor 
of  Lady  All  worth,  which  he  hoped  to  wrest  from 
the  weak  hands  of  his  nephew. 

Little  did  he  dream  of  the  bitter  draught  the 
fates  were  preparing  for  him.  Now,  when  his 
hopes  were  at  their  highest,  and  his  deeply-laid 
plans  most  promising  of  success,  disgrace  and 
defeat  impended,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  was  destined  to  find  that  honesty  is  the  best 
policy. 

On  the  day  after  the  events  just  described,  Sir 
Giles  directed  Marrall  to  see  that  all  the  debts  of 
his  nephew  were  paid,  and  to  provide  him  with. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.       89 

the  chest  of  rich  clothing  of  which  he  had  spoken. 
He  then  gave  his  ring  to  young  Allworth,  as  a 
token  of  free  admission  to  his  daughter's  pres- 
ence, and  directed  him  to  ride  to  Nottingham  and 
obtain,  by  the  use  of  the  same  token,  a  marriage 
license.  "  I'll  have  it  despatched,  and  suddenly," 
he  said,  "  that  I  may  quickly  say  '  My  Honorable,' 
nay,  '  My  Eight  Honorable  daughter.' " 

These  preparations  made,  he  held  an  interview 
with  Lord  Lovell,  in  which  he  boasted  of  the 
extent  and  value  of  his  estate,  and  promised  to 
settle  a  large  marriage  portion  on  his  daughter. 
He  even  went  so  far  as  to  point  out  Lady 
Allworth's  manor-house,  near  which  they  stood, 
asking  if  his  noble  friend  approved  of  it,  and 
telling  him  that  it  should  be  his  before  long,  if  he 
desired  it. 

When  Lord  Lovell  asked  him,  in  surprise,  how 
he  could  promise  this,  Sir  Giles  answei-ed,  that 
when  the  estate  once  became  Wellborn's,  as  it 
promised  soon  to  be,  it  quickly  would  be  his  ;  and 
added  that  if  his  noble  friend  wanted  any  man's 
land  in  the  shire,  he  had  but  to  express  the  wish 
and  he  should  have  it.  Lord  Lovell  replied  that 
he  would  not  dare  to  own  aught  that  was  extorted 
by  unjust  and  cruel  means ;  but  Sir  Giles  bade 
him  not  to  let  this  trouble  him,  vowing  that  he 
was  quite  able  to  carry  all  this  sin  and  shame  on 
his  own  shoulders.  As  for  widows'  tears  and  the 
curses  of  ruined  families,  he  cared  not  a  jot  for 
them.  "  In  one  word,  sir,  is  it  a  match  ?" 
8* 


90  TALES    FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"I  hope  that  is  past  doubt,"  answered  Lord 
Lovell. 

"  Then  rest  secure ;  not  the  hate  of  all  man- 
kind, nor  fear  of  future  penalty,  shall  make  me 
study  aught  but  your  advancement.  Leave  my 
religion  and  my  deeds  for  me  to  answer,  but  you 
shall  be  an  earl,  if  gold  can  compass  it." 

Not  till  he  had  gone  did  his  disgusted  listener 
give  free  vent  to  his  thoughts. 

"  I,  that  have  lived  a  soldier,"  he  declared,  u  am 
bathed  in  a  cold  sweat  to  hear  this  blasphemous 
beast !  He  has  made  a  plain  discovery  of  himself, 
indeed,  and  I  should  be  as  bad  as  he  if  I  had  any 
scruples  now  against  working  to  defeat  him." 

Meanwhile,  Marrall  had  lost  no  time  in  carrying 
out  Sir  Giles's  instructions  as  to  his  nephew,  while 
Wellborn,  delighted  with  the  opportunity  to  pay 
his  debts,  summoned  his  creditors  by  tap  of  drum, 
and  had  the  satisfaction  to  find  those  who  had  of 
late  treated  him  as  a  beggarly  rogue  now  ready 
to  fall  down  and  worship  them.  Among  them  all 
he  cherished  malice  against  but  one  pair, — Tap- 
well  and  his  wife  Froth,  who  had  treated  him  so 
shabbily. 

"  What,  Tapwell  1"  said  Justice  Greedy,  who 
took  part  in  this  proceeding ;  "  I  remember  your 
wife  brought  me  last  New- Year  a  couple  of  fat 
turkeys." 

"  She  shall  do  so  every  Christmas,  if  your  wor- 
ship will  but  stand  my  friend  now." 

"How!— with   Master   Wellborn?— I   will   do 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.       91 

anything  on  such  terms.  Do  you  see  this  honest 
couple,  my  dear  sir  ?  They  are  as  good  souls  as 
ever  tapped  ale.  Have  they  not  a  pair  of  honest 
faces  ?" 

"  They  are  the  most  unthankful  knaves  of  all 
that  grew  rich  by  my  riots.  See  here,  friend 
Greedy;  call  in  this  fellow's  license,  and  at  the 
next  fair  I'll  give  you  a  yoke  of  oxen  worth  all 
his  turkeys." 

"  Come  here ; — nearer,  rascal,"  cried  Greedy  to 
the  tapster.  "  Now  I  view  you  better,  I  never 
saw  such  an  arch  knave.  Why,  any  honest  judge 
would  hang  you  for  that  face  !  Ask  me  no  favors, 
villain ;  I  here  revoke  your  license,  and  will  before 
I  eat  command  my  constable  to  pull  down  your 
sign." 

'•Have  you  no  mercy,  sir?" 

"  Vanish,  knave !  If  I  show  you  any  may  my 
promised  oxen  gore  me." 

As  for  the  others,  Wellborn  freely  paid  their 
claims. 

"  See  that  all  who  are  not  here  are  paid,"  he 
said  to  Marrall.  "  Since  I  have  chosen  this  new 
way  to  pay  old  debts,  let  no  just  claim  go  unsettled." 

"  And  now,  your  worship,"  said  Marrall,  "  I 
have  a  weighty  matter  for  your  private  ear.  Sir 
Giles  will  before  long  come  on  you  for  security  for 
his  thousand  pounds.  This  I  counsel  you  to  re- 
fuse to  give,  and  when  he  grows  hot  do  you  grow 
rough,  and  tell  him  he  is  in  your  debt  ten  times 
the  sum,  on  the  sale  of  your  lands.  Bid  him  pro- 


92  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

duce  the  deed  by  which  you  passed  it  over  to 
him.  He'll  have  it  with  him,  to  deliver  it,  with 
other  writings,  to  Lord  Lovell.  Leave  the  rest  to 
me :  if  I  play  not  my  part  well,  then  hang  Jack 
Marrall." 

"  Be  it  so.     I  rely  on  you,"  answered  Wellborn. 

While  Wellborn  and  Marrall  were  thus  laying 
plans  to  circumvent  Sir  G-iles,  Lord  Lovell  and 
his  page  were  doing  the  same.  By  the  aid  of 
her  father's  ring,  Allworth  obtained  an  interview 
with  his  lady-love,  in  which  a  well-devised  plot 
was  arranged.  In  the  midst  of  their  conference 
Sir  Giles  entered,  and  Margaret  showed  him  a 
letter  she  had  received  from  Lord  Lovell,  calling 
it  "a  piece  of  arrogant  paper."  Her  father,  how- 
ever, read  it  with  as  much  pleasure  as  it  seemed 
to  give  his  daughter  displeasure,  and  harshly  bade 
her  yield  to  the  writer's  wishes. 

What  the  letter  proposed  was  an  elopement  and 
a  secret  marriage,  as  his  lordship  did  not  wish  the 
delay  consequent  upon  a  pompous  ceremony.  It, 
however,  failed  to  say  who  the  husband  was  to 
be,  an  omission  which  the  ambitious  father  did 
not  notice.  Filled  with  joy,  he  pressed  a  purse 
of  gold  on  Allworth  to  pay  the  necessary  ex- 
penses, bade  him  use  his  ring  to  overcome  any 
objections  of  the  chaplain,  and  went  so  far  as  to 
write,  the  latter  a  note  bidding  him  to  "  marry  my 
daughter  to  this  gentleman."  Allworth  had  ad- 
vised him  not  to  put  in  Lord  Lovell's  name,  since 
Jiis  lordship  would  be  in  disguise. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.       93 

"  Be  gone  now,  good  Master  Allworth,"  said  Sir 
Giles,  joyfully;  "this  shall  be  the  best  night's 
work  you  ever  made." 

"I  think  so,  indeed,"  answered  Allworth,  lead- 
ing out  Margaret. 

"Now  all's  cock-sure,"  cried  her  father,  in  high 
glee.  "Methinks  I  already  hear  knights  and 
ladies  say,  '  Sir  Giles  Overreach,  how  is  it  with 
your  Honorable  daughter?  Has  her  Honor  slept 
well  to-night  ?  Or  will  her  Honor  please  to  accept 
this  monkey,  dog,  or  paroquet?' — I  can  scarce 
contain  myself,  I  am  so  full  of  joy.  Naught 
could  go  better." 

Night  fell  upon  these  events,  and  a  new  day 
in  good  time  dawned,  one  in  which  Sir  Giles's 
high-flown  hopes  were  destined  to  be  sadly  over- 
thrown. The  elopement  had  taken  place  in  due 
secrecy,  winked  at  by  the  consenting  father,  but 
the  married  couple  failed  to  return,  though  Sir 
Giles  waited  up  all  night  to  wish  them  joy.  With 
the  early  morning  he  made  his  appearance  at 
Lady  All  worth's  house,  cursing  Marrall,  who  ac- 
companied him  with  his  deed  box,  while  his  looks 
were  wild  and  distracted.  The  absence  of  the 
bride  and  groom  troubled  him  sorely.  Lady  All- 
worth,  Wellborn,  and  Lord  Lovell  were  present 
when  Sir  Giles  was  announced,  but  his  lordship 
stepped  aside  so  as  not  to  be  seen  by  the  angry 
baronet. 

"  Lady  Allworth,  by  your  leave,  have  you  seen 
my  daughter  and  the  lord,  her  husband  ?  Tell 


94  TALES   FROM  THE  DRAMATISTS. 

me  if  they  are  in  your  house,  that  I  may  wish 
them  joy." 

"Sir  Giles,  I  neither  know  nor  care  where  her 
Honor  is,"  answered  Lady  Allworth,  to  his  arbi- 
trary demand. 

Thus  repulsed,  he  turned  in  anger  to  his  nephew, 
but  found  him  so  independent  in  his  answers  that 
he  could  explain  it  only  on  the  theory  of  a  secret 
marriage  with  Lady  Allworth.  Led  by  this  false 
conception,  he  peremptorily  demanded  security 
for  the  thousand  pounds  he  had  loaned  him, 
threatening  to  drag  him  to  jail  if  he  refused. 

"  Can  you  be  so  cruel  to  your  nephew,  now 
that  he  is  in  the  way  to  rise  ?"  asked  Wellborn, 
with  an  assumed  show  of  alarm. 

"Mortgage  the  whole  estate,  and  force  your 
spouse  to  sign  it.  You  shall  have  three  or  four 
thousand  more,  to  roar  and  swagger  with,  and 
revel  in  taverns." 

"And  beg  after; — is  that  your  meaning?" 

"My  thoughts  are  my  own,  sir.  Shall  I  have 
security  ?" 

"  No !  neither  bond,  nor  bill,  nor  bare  acknowl- 
edgment. Save  your  great  looks,  Sir  Giles ;  they 
frighten  not  me." 

"  But  my  deeds  shall." 

"  Shall  they,  indeed  ?  Hear  me,  my  worthy 
sir :  if  there  be  law  in  the  land  you  shall  pay  me 
ten  times  a  thousand  pounds,  to  make  good  what 
you  have  robbed  me  of." 

Made  doubly  furious  by  this  defiance,  Sir  Giles, 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.       95 

to  prove  his  claim,  opened  his  deed-box,  and  pro- 
duced the  deed  to  Wellborn's  lands.  But  when 
he  had  unfolded  it  to  overwhelm  his  insolent 
nephew,  he  stood  like  a  statue  of  astonishment. 
What  he  saw  was  a  clean  sheet  of  parchment,  its 
surface  unsoiled  by  ink.  Wax  and  words  alike 
were  gone,  and  the  deed  had  vanished. 

The  astounded  usurer  turned  to  Marrall,  and 
bade  him  swear  that  the  deed  had  been  properly 
drawn,  and  must  have  been  tampered  with.  But 
his  late  tool  now  turned  upon  him  and  refused  to 
aid  him  with  a  word,  but  charged  him  with  foul 
plots  and  devilish  practices.  In  truth,  Marrall 
himself  had  removed  every  trace  of  writing  from 
the  parchment  by  a  chemical  process  of  his  own. 

In  the  midst  of  Sir  Giles's  fury  at  the  insolent 
defiance  of  the  late  servant,  Justice  Greedy  and 
Parson  Welldo  entered.  The  appearance  of  the 
latter  gave  the  usurer  new  hope.  He  turned  to 
him  eagerly  and  demanded  if  his  daughter  were 
married. 

"  She  is  ;  I  assure  you,"  answered  the  parson. 

"  Then  all  is  well.  Here's  more  gold  for  you. 
Now,  you  that  have  plotted  against  me,  think  on 
it  and  tremble. — Ha !  they  come  now.  I  hear  the 
music.  Eoom  there  !  A  lane  for  my  lord !" 

The  next  minute,  to  strains  of  music,  Margaret 
and  Allworth  entered  in  wedding  robes,  and 
kneeled  to  ask  his  blessing. 

"How!  What  is  this?"  he  cried,  while  his 
eyes  seemed  ready  to  start  from  his  head. 


96  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"  Do  a  father's  part,  and  say,  Heaven  give  them 
joy,"  answered  the  parson. 

"  Confusion  and  ruin !  are  these  two  married  ?" 
cried  Sir  Giles,  in  fury. 

"Why  this  rage,  sir?  Here  is  your  letter 
saying,  'Marry  her  to  this  gentleman.'  I  but 
obeyed  your  order." 

"  What,  I,  Sir  Giles  Overreach,  who  never 
made  a  blunder,  gulled  by  children !  baffled  and 
fooled  like  this !  You  wretch,  I'll  take  back  the 
life  I  gave  you!" 

He  drew  his  sword  and  would  have  killed 
Margaret,  had  not  Lovell  stepped  hastily  forward 
and  stopped  him. 

"  You  lordly  villain,  it  is  you  that  have  gulled 
me,"  yelled  the  cheated  usurer.  "  If  you  are  a 
man,  follow  me  from  the  house,  and  have  this  out 
in  private." 

"  I  am  ready,"  answered  Lord  Lovell. 

Like  a  fury  Sir  Giles  flung  himself  from  the 
room,  uttering  threats  and  curses,  and  swearing 
that,  by  the  aid  of  his  friends  and  servants,  he 
would  burn  the  house  to  the  ground  and  leave  not 
one  throat  uncut. 

Lord  Lovell  would  have  followed  him,  but  was 
stopped  by  Wellborn,  who  bade  him  not  to  think 
of  fighting  with  a  madman  ;  and  by  Lady  All- 
worth,  who  now  made  public  the  secret  that  she 
had  consented  to  be  Lord  Lovell's  wife,  and 
declared  that  she  would  not  listen  to  her  lover's 
facing  a  desperate  and  defeated  villain. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.       97 

Wellborn  proved  to  be  right  in  speaking  of 
Sir  (riles  as  a  madman.  The  sudden  overthrow 
of  all  his  plots,  loss  of  his  ill-gotten  wealth,  and 
ruin  of  his  deep-laid  scheme  to  marry  his  daugh- 
ter to  a  lord,  were  too  much  for  his  brain,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  he  rushed  back  into  the  room, 
quite  demented.  His  face  was  ghastly,  his  eyes 
wildly  rolling,  his  hands  clawing  the  air,  while 
his  words  showed  that,  to  his  insane  fancy,  all 
around  him  were  the  spectral  forms  of  those 
whom  he  had  driven  to  despair  and  death. 

"He  is  mad  bej^ond  help,"  said  Wellborn. 
"  Disarm  and  bind  him,  or  he  may  do  some  one  a 
mischief." 

"  Take  him  to  Bedlam,"  advised  Justice  Greedy. 

"  First  see  what  can  be  done  for  his  recovery," 
suggested  the  parson. 

By  this  time  the  frenzy  of  the  unfortunate 
man  had  so  increased  that  foam  stood  on  his  lips, 
and  he  cast  himself  to  the  floor  and  sought  to 
bite  the  very  boards.  It  was  with  no  small 
trouble  that  they  succeeded  in  binding  his  hands 
and  forcing  him  off,  while  he  madly  raved  about 
the  frightful  shapes  that  haunted  him,  and  the 
tears  of  widows  and  orphans  that  seared  him  like 
hot  irons. 

"  Here  is  a  precedent  to  teach  wicked  men  that 
wrong  cannot  prosper,"  said  Lord  Lovell.  "  Take 
comfort,  Margaret,  I  will  be  your  father's  guar- 
dian in  his  distraction.  As  for  your  lands,  Mr. 
Wellborn,  let  me  be  umpire  between  you  and  this 
VOL.  I.— K  g  9 


98  TALES   FKOM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

lady,  the  undoubted  heir  of  Sir  Giles  Overreach. 
For  myself,  Lady  Allworth  shall  be  the  anchor  to 
tie  me  to  this  district." 

"  I  ask  but  justice,  my  lord,"  answered  Well- 
born. "The  reputation  I  lost  in  my  loose  course 
I  will  strive  to  redeem.  I  need  action,  and  if 
your  lordship  will  please  to  confer  on  me  a  com- 
pany in  your  command,  I  doubt  not  I  shall  win 
in  service  to  my  country  the  good  repute  my 
revelry  has  lost  me." 

"  That  I  shall  gladly  do,  sir.  And  much  I  hope 
that  happiness  may  hereafter  dwell  with  us  all. 
As  for  Sir  Giles  Overreach,  he  has  but  paid  the 
fitting  penalty  for  his  ill  deeds." 

"  And  I  have  aptly  found,"  answered  "Wellborn, 
laughing,  "  with  Lady  Allworth's  aid,  a  new  way 
to  pay  old  debts" 


VENICE  PRESET! 

BY  THOMAS 


rn  at  Ts  iissex,  in 

He 
adu- 
principa 


he  was  choked 

L:  a  piece  of  bread  i. 

in  mer 
»nd  best 


•Ui  drama.    'I 

and 
99 


VENICE  PRESERVED. 

BY  THOMAS    OTWAY. 


[TnoM AS  «  OTWAY  born  at  Trotton,  Sussex,  in 
1651,  was  the  son  of  an  English  clergyman.  He 
entered  Oxford  in  1669,  and  left  without  gradu- 
ating in  1674.  His  life  was  principally  devoted  to 
dramatic  composition,  though  he  served  for  some 
time  as  a  cornet  in  the  cavalry,  and  made  one  at- 
tempt at  acting,  which  proved  a  complete  failure. 
Otway  produced  a  considerable  number  of  plays, 
several  of  which  were  successful,  but  extravagance 
kept  him  in  a  state  of  continual  want,  and  he  be- 
came in  the  end  so  destitute  that  one  of  his  biog- 
raphers says  that  he  was  choked  to  death  from 
too  hastily  swallowing  a  piece  of  bread  after  a 
long  fast.  He  died  in  1685. 

Otway's  plays  differ  very  greatly  in  merit,  the 
distinction  between  his  worst  and  best  being  im- 
mense. Only  two  of  them  have  stood  the  test  of 
time, — "The  Orphan,"  and  "Venice  Preserved." 
The  power  of  both  of  these  is  largely  due  to  their 
pathos,  in  which  Otway  has  hardly  an  equal  in 
English  drama.  The  pathetic  love-scenes  between 
Jaffier  and  Belvideva  cannot  bo  excelled,  and 

99 


100  TALES    FROM   THE    DRAMATISTS. 

"  Venice  Preserved"  is,  in  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Gosse, 
"  the  greatest  tragic  drama  between  Shakespeare 
and  Shelley."  We  give  the  story  of  this  power- 
ful and  affecting  play.] 

On  one  occasion  during  the  celebrated  state 
ceremony  of  Venice — the  marriage  of  the  Adriatic 
by  the  Doge — one  of  the  vessels,  that  containing 
Priuli,  a  member  of  the  senate,  and  his  daughter 
Belvidera,  was  run  upon  a  rock  through  the  care- 
lessness of  the  pilot.  Belvidera,  who  stood  upon 
the  vessel's  side,  was  dashed  overboard,  and  would 
have  sunk  but  for  the  readiness  of  a  gentleman 
named  Jaffier,  who  sprang  into  the  water  and 
sustained  her  till  a  boat  came  to  her  rescue.  For 
this  service  the  proud  senator  contented  himself 
with  thanks ;  but  the  rescued  lady  felt  a  warmer 
impulse,  and  gave  her  love  to  Jaffier,  a  love  which 
was  ardently  returned.  The  haughty  father 
looked  with  eyes  of  stern  disapproval  on  this 
affection  of  his  daughter  for  one  beneath  her  in 
rank,  and  in  the  end  the  lovers,  despairing  of  his 
consent,  agreed  upon  a  stolen  marriage.  At  dead 
of  night  Belvidera  left  her  home,  and  was  wedded 
to  her  lover.  The  stolen  marriage  of  his  daughter 
threw  Priuli  into  such  a  rage  that  he  refused  to 
forgive  or  to  have  any  further  intercourse  with 
her,  and  for  three  years  the  wedded  pair  dwelt 
under  the  weight  of  his  anger. 

During  this  period  Jaffier  had  not  been  prudent. 
He  had  deemed  it  his  duty  to  treat  Belvidera  with 


VENICE   PRESERVED.  101 

the  distinction  and  observance  due  to  the  daughter 
of  a  senator  of  Venice,  and  in  so  doing  had  dissi- 
pated his  fortune  and  reduced  himself  to  poverty. 
This  poverty,  indeed,  in  the  end  became  ruin. 
His  creditors  seized  his  house,  put  officers  in 
charge,  and  prepared  to  sell  its  contents  at  public 
sale,  while  he  and  his  tenderly-reared  wife  were 
turned  homeless  into  the  public  streets. 

In  this  strait  Jaffier  subdued  his  pride  sufficiently 
to  make  an  humble  appeal  to  Priuli  for  aid  and 
forgiveness,  but  found  the  old  senator  bitterly 
obdurate.  For  the  blessing  he  asked  he  received 
curses,  and  in  the  end  was  dismissed  with  the 
following  unfeeling  sentence : 

"  Home,  and  be  humble ;  study  to  retrench  ;  dis- 
charge the  lazy  vermin  of  thy  hall;  reduce  the 
costly  attire  of  thy  wife  to  humble  weeds:  then 
to  some  suburban  cottage  both  retire ;  drudge  to 
feed  thy  loathsome  life ;  get  brats,  and  starve. 
Home,  dog ;  look  not  to  me  for  mercy." 

"With  these  words  the  revengeful  senator  stalked 
haughtily  away,  leaving  Jaffier  overcome  with 
mingled  shame  and  anger.  As  he  stood  thus  he 
was  joined  by  Pierre,  a  brave  soldier  of  Venice 
and  his  devoted  friend,  who  told  him  a  tale  which 
drove  him  to  desperation. 

"  I  passed  your  doors  but  now,"  he  said,  "  and 
found  them  guarded  by  a  troop  of  villians.  They 
told  me  that,  by  sentence  of  the  law,  they  had 
commission  to  seize  all  your  fortune.  Nay,  more, 
Priuli's  cruel  hand  had  signed  it.  Here  stood  a 
9* 


102  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

ruffian  lording  it  over  a  pile  of  massive  plate, 
tumbled  into  a  heap  for  public  sale.  There  was 
another  making  villanous  jests  at  your  undoing." 

Pierre  went  on  with  his  tale  of  ruin,  ending  by 
stating  that  he  had  seen  Belvidera  led  weeping 
from  the  house,  while  before  her  distress  even  the 
base  rabble,  who  had  gathered  to  revel  in  the 
sight,  stood  mute  with  pity. 

The  soldier  had  a  purpose  in  thus  probing  the 
deep  wounds  of  his  friend.  A  conspiracy  had 
been  formed  for  the  overthrow  of  the  government 
of  Venice,  in  which  he,  bitterly  discontented  by 
the  beggarly  way  in  which  his  services  to  the 
state  had  been  rewarded,  had  taken  an  active  part. 
He  desired  to  enlist  his  friend  Jaffier  in  this 
dangerous  enterprise,  and  took  this  means  to  work 
him  into  the  proper  mood. 

"What!  starve,  like  beggars'  brats,  in  frosty 
weather,  under  a  hedge,  and  whine  ourselves  to 
death !"  he  exclaimed,  with  bitter  emphasis. 
"  Burn  Venice  first,  and  bring  it  to  the  level  of 
thy  ruin  !  Meet  me  to-night,  at  twelve,  on  the 
Eialto.  Fail  not,  my  Jaffier;  there  we'll  talk  of 
precious — mischief." 

"  If  it  be  against  these  senators  I'm  with  you, 
Pierre.  Trust  me." 

"  At  twelve,"  repeated  Pierre,  as  he  walked  away. 

The  departure  of  the  tempter  was  quickly 
followed  by  the  entrance  of  Belvidera,  in  such  dis- 
tress of  mind  at  her  misfortunes,  yet  with  such  un- 
yielding love  for  her  husband,  that  his  revengeful 


VENICE   PRESERVED.  103 

feeling  against  her  father  was  roused  to  still  greater 
bitterness. 

"  Can  there  in  woman  he  such  glorious  faith?" 
exclaimed  Jaffier,  inspired  by  her  devotion.  "  Oh, 
woman !  lovely  woman !  nature  made  you  to 
temper  man.  We  had  been  brutes  without  you. 
Angels  are  painted  fair  to  look  like  you.  There's 
in  you  all  that  we  believe  of  heaven  ;  truth,  purity, 
eternal  joy,  and  everlasting  love."  And  he  drew 
her  to  his  breast  with  a  loving  embrace. 

"  If  love  be  a  treasure,  we'll  be  wondrous  rich," 
she  answered,  her  eyes  beaming  with  affection. 
"  Be  it  in  a  desert,  Jaffier,  love  will  fill  the  void 
which  fortune  makes." 

Having  found  a  place  of  temporary  shelter  for 
his  wife,  Jaffier,  grown  still  more  desperate  and 
revengeful,  kept  his  midnight  appointment  with 
Pierre,  whom  he  found  waiting  for  him  on  the 
Rialto.  A  brief  conversation  ensued,  at  the  end 
of  which  Pierre  presented  Jaffier  with  a  purse. 

"  Here's  something  to  buy  pins,"  he  said,  with 
a  look  of  deep  meaning. 

"I  but  half  wished  to  see  the  devil,  and  he's 
here  already,"  answered  Jaffier.  "  What  must 
this  purchase  ?  Eebellion,  murder,  treason  ?  Tell 
me  which  way  I  must  be  damned  for  this." 

"  What  qualms  are  these  ?  Cannot  your  hatred 
stretch  beyond  one  senator  ?" 

"  Nay,  could  I  kill  with  cursing,  senators 
should  rot,  like  dogs,  on  dunghills.  Oh,  for  a 
curse  to  kill  with  !" 


104  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"  Daggers  are  better,"  said  Pierre,  significantly. 

"Daggers  !     Where  are  they  ?" 

"  Come,  and  I  will  show  you." 

Pierre  now  exacted  from  Jaffier  an  oath  of 
fidelity,  and  then  told  him  of  the  conspiracy  that 
had  been  formed  for  the  destruction  of  Yenice. 
Even  at  the  moment  of  their  talk,  he  said,  a 
council  of  the  conspirators  was  being  held  in  a 
house  near  by.  Thither,  after  Jaffier  had  sworn 
by  all  he  held  good  and  sacred  not  to  betray  the 
secret,  Pierre  led  him,  promising  him  liberty  for 
Yenice,  to  which  JaflSer  responded  by  a  demand 
for  revenge. 

At  that  moment  three  of  the  conspirators  were 
present  in  the  council-room,  Spinosa,  a  Venetian  ; 
Eenault,  a  Frenchman;  and  Elliot,  an  English- 
man. Sharp  words  had  passed  between  the  last 
two,  and  a  quarrel  was  on  the  point  of  breaking 
out  when  Bedamar,  the  leader  of  the  conspiracy, 
entered,  with  others,  and  bade  them  cease  their 
private  squabbles  in  favor  of  the  public  service 
which  drew  them  together. 

He  had  just  succeeded  in  making  the  two  foes 
clasp  hands,  when  Pierre  entered,  having  left 
Jafiier  behind.  A  conference  of  the  conspirators 
ensued,  in  which  Bedamar  told  them  that  all  was 
ripe  for  execution,  ten  thousand  men  being  ready 
to  aid  in  the  overthrow  of  the  oppressive  govern- 
ment. He  ended  by  bidding  all  to  speak  who 
had  friends  or  interests  they  would  wish  to  save. 

"  You  touch  my  weakness  there,"  said  Pierre. 


VENICE   PRESERVED.  105 

"  I  have  a  friend,  my  one  and  only  confidant,  to 
whom  my  heart  was  never  closed.  Nay,  I'll 
tell  you,  he  knows  the  very  business  of  this  hour. 
But  he  rejoices  in  our  cause,  and  is  at  hand  to 
join  us." 

"How!  betrayed!"  cried  Renault. 

"Not  so.  If  he  prove  worthless,  my  blade 
shall  be  the  first  to  pierce  his  heart.  Come  forth, 
thou  only  good  I  ever  could  boast  of!"  he  called, 
opening  the  door  to  the  antechamber. 

Jaffier  entered  at  these  words,  with  a  drawn 
dagger  in  his  hand.  Standing  before  the  group 
of  conspirators,  he  recited  his  wrongs  and  his 
thirst  for  revenge  in  such  fierce  terms  that  his 
words  roused  distrust.  Bedamar  alone  accepted 
him  as  a  true  ally,  but  old  Renault  growled  out 
his  suspicion. 

"  Tour  friends  survey  me  as  if  I  were  danger- 
ous," said  Jaffier  to  Bedamar.  "  Nor  did  I  hope 
to  gain  your  trust  without  a  pledge  for  my  fidel- 
ity. Sir,  bid  all  withdraw  a  while  but  this  grave 
senior  and  yourself,  with  my  friend — to  spare  a 
woman's  blushes." 

At  a  gesture  from  Bedamar  all  withdrew  except 
Renault  and  Pierre. 

"  What  means  this  ceremony,  Pierre  ?"  asked 
Bedamar,  as  their  new  associate  retired  to  the 
antechamber. 

He  was  answered  by  the  quick  reappearance 
of  Jaffier,  leading  his  wife  Belvidera,  who  gazed 
around  the  room  with  eyes  of  doubt  and  terror. 


106  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"Where  is  it  you  lead  me?"  she  demanded,  in 
tones  of  fear.  "  You  shake  and  tremble  ! — your 
blood  runs  cold! — what  mean  you?  Who  are 
these  men  ?" 

Jaffier,  with  distracted  face  and  quavering 
voice,  bade  them  take  this  woman,  whom  he  loved 
above  all  the  world,  and  hold  her  as  a  hostage  for 
his  fidelity. 

"  To  you,  sirs,  and  your  honor,  I  bequeath 
her,"  he  said  ;  "  and  with  her  this."  He  gave 
Renault  the  dagger  he  held.  "  If  I  prove  false  or 
faithless,  then  strike  it  to  her  heart." 

"  Oh,  thou  unkind  one !"  cried  Belvidera,  pas- 
sionately, "  have  I  deserved  this  from  you  ?  Look 
on  me !  Why  yield  you  me  to  these  men's  hands  ? 
If  I  am  false,  accuse  me  ;  but  if  true,  then  pity 
the  sad  heart  that  clings  to  you." 

Jaffier  turned  his  head  aside,  weeping,  while 
Bedamar  and  Eenault  led  Belvidera  from  the 
room,  she  calling  to  him  in  pitiful  tones :  "  Hear 
me !  Bid  them  release  me !  Jaffier !  O  Jaffier !" 

The  distracted  husband  remained  silent,  while 
the  lovely  hostage,  ignorant  of  his  purpose,  and 
filled  with  terror,  was  drawn  in  burning  tears 
away. 

As  the  event  proved,  Jaffier,  by  his  impulse  of 
devotion  to  his  new  confederates,  had  introduced 
a  fatal  element  into  their  midst.  It  was  not  in 
woman's  lack  of  faith,  however,  but  in  man's 
lack  of  honor,  that  the  peril  to  the  conspiracy 
lay.  Belvidera  could  not  betray  that  of  which 


VENICE   PRESERVED.  107 

she  was  ignorant,  but  the  base  old  wretch  Renault 
proved  false  to  the  sacred  trust  which  was  com- 
mitted to  him.  When  Belvidera  the  next  morn- 
ing met  her  husband,  she  repelled  him  with  deep 
indignation  and  bitterly  demanded,  "  Why  was  I 
last  night  delivered  to  a  villain?" 

"  A  villain  ?"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes.  And  what  meant  that  secret  assembly 
of  wretches  ?  what  the  dagger  with  which  I  was 
to  be  slain  if  you  proved  false  ?  Have  I  been 
made  the  hostage  of  a  hellish  trust?  By  all  the 
loyalty  I  owe  you  I'll  free  you  from  the  bondage 
of  these  slaves!  I'll  go  to  the  senate,  and  tell  all 
I  know,  and  all  I  fear  and  suspect." 

Her  suspicions  led  her  so  near  the  truth,  indeed, 
that  Jaffier  found  it  impossible  to  conceal  it  from 
her,  and  in  the  end  breathed  into  her  shrinking 
ear  the  story  that  he  had  bound  himself  to  aid 
these  men  to  kill  her  father,  with  all  the  senators 
of  Venice.  Belvidera  heard  this  dread  story  with 
trembling  horror.  To  kill  her  father!  kill  him 
who  gave  her  birth ! — first  must  he  strike  his  sword 
into  her  breast ! 

"  Can  your  great  heart  descend  so  vilely  low," 
she  indignantly  demanded,  "as  to  mix  with 
bravoes  and  ruffians,  pledged  to  cut  the  throats 
of  wretches  as  they  sleep  ?" 

"  You  wrong  me,  Belvidora,"  he  protested.  "  I've 
engaged  with  honorable  and  earnest  men.  There's 
not  a  heart  among  them  but  is  stout  and  honest." 

"  Is  it  so  ?"  she  sternly  replied.     "  What  is  ho, 


108  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

then,  to  whose  cursed  hands  you  gave  me  last 

night?  Oh,  I  could  tell  a  story "  She  ceased 

with  a  shudder,  and  clasped  her  hands  distract- 
edly. 

"  What  mean  you  ?"  he  demanded.  "  Speak  on, 
I  charge  you !" 

"  That  old,  base  villian Oh,  Jaffier,  that 

wretch  sought  me  last  night  where  I  lay  on  my  sad 
bed,  and  with  the  dagger  you  had  given  him  sought 
by  threats  to  rob  me  of  my  virtue.  But  with  my 
cries  I  scared  his  coward  heart  and  forced  him 
to  withdraw.  Are  these  your  honorable  friends  ? 
these  the  stout  and  honest  hearts  to  whom  you 
have  sold  your  soul  ?" 

This  recital  filled  Jaffier  with  a  deeper  anger  and 
sense  of  indignity  than  that  which  had  moved  him 
against  her  father.  Soothing,  as  well  as  he  could, 
Belvidera's  deep  distress,  he  left  her,  promising  that 
she  should  not  be  again  exposed  to  such  a  peril. 
The  furious  husband  now  sought  Pierre,  whom  he 
told  of  what  had  happened ;  so  stirring  by  his  tale 
of  treachery  the  honest  heart  of  the  soldier  that 
he  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  restrain  him  from 
taking  instant  revenge  on  Eenault.  In  the  end  they 
mutually  agreed  that  it  would  be  best  to  forget 
their  private  injuries  till  the  purposes  of  the  con- 
spiracy were  achieved.  Then  the  French  villian 
might  be  dealt  with. 

Counsels  so  cold  as  these  under  such  hot  prov- 
ocation were  more  easily  formed  than  kept. 
Jaffier  shortly  afterwards  met  Eenault,  and  ques- 


VENICE   PRESERVED.  109 

tioned  him  with  such  bitter  satire  that  the  villain 
trembled  in  fear,  seeing  that  his  baseness  was 
discovered. 

"  No  more,"  said  Jaffier,  as  the  other  conspirators 
entered.  "  It  is  a  base  world,  and  must  reform, 
that's  all." 

"  What's  this  ?"  said  Pierre,  aside  to  him.  "  He 
shakes  like  a  leaf.  You  should  have  stroked  him, 
not  galled  him." 

"  Curse  him,  let  him  chew  on  it !"  snarled  Jaffier. 
"  Heaven,  whore  am  I  ?  beset  with  cursed  fiends 
that  wait  to  damn  me !  What  a  devil  is  man, 
when  he  forgets  his  reason !" 

Renault,  concealing  his  nervous  agitation,  now 
proceeded  to  give  their  several  charges  to  the 
conspirators,  in  preparation  for  the  outbreak, 
which  was  fixed  for  the  coming  night.  He  bade 
them  to  fire  the  city,  and,  above  all,  to  shed  blood 
enough,  to  spare  neither  sex  nor  age. 

"Let  each  man  think  that  on  his  single  virtue 
depends  tbe  good  and  fame  of  all  the  rest.  You 
droop,  sir,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Jaffier. 

"  No,  with  most  profound  attention  I've  heard 
it  all,  and  wonder  at  your  virtue." 

"Let  us  consider  that  we  destroy  oppression, 
avarice  ;  a  people  nursed  with  vices  and  loathsome 
lusts,  which  nature  most  abhors,"  continued 
Kenault. 

This  was  too  much  for  Jaffier's  self-control,  and 
he  hastily  left  the  room,  to  avoid  giving  vent  to 
his  feelings.  In  this  he  but  played  into  the  hand 
10 


110  TALES  PROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

of  his  wily  foe,  for  no  sooner  had  he  departed  than 
Renault  began  to  hint  at  possible  treachery,  and 
in  the  end  boldly  declared  that  he  doubted  Jaffier's 
faith.  His  skilfully  worded  suspicions  had  the 
intended  effect.  Some  of  the  conspirators  sprang 
from  their  seats,  and  proposed  to  search  the  house 
and  kill  the  traitor. 

"  Who  talks  of  killing  ?"  exclaimed  Pierre, 
fiercely,  looking  from  face  to  face.  "  Who's  he 
will  shed  the  blood  that's  dear  to  me  ?  Is  it  you 
— or  you,  sir?  What,  not  one  speak?  Not  a 
word,  .Renault?  Then,  sir,  I'll  tell  you  a  secret  : 
suspicion  at  best  is  but  a  coward's  virtue !" 

"  A  coward !"  cried  Renault,  drawing  his  sword. 

"  Put  up  your  sword,  old  man ;  your  hand 
shakes  at  it." 

"We'll  not  be  sold  by  a  traitor,"  cried  one  of 
the  others,  a  sentiment  which  his  fellows  echoed, 
in  spite  of  Pierre's  threatening  looks. 

"  One  such  word  more,"  he  exclaimed,  in  fury, 
"and  by  heaven,  I'll  to  the  senate,  and  hang  you 
all  like  dogs,  in  clusters  !  Why  peep  your  coward 
swords  half  out  their  sheaths  ?  Why  do  you  not 
all  brandish  them  like  mine?  You  fear  to  die, 
and  yet  dare  talk  of  killing !  Away,  disperse  all 
to  your  several  charges,  and  meet  to-morrow 
where  your  honor  calls  you.  I'll  bring  that  man 
whose  blood  you  thirst  for,  and  you  shall  see  him 
venture  with  you  all." 

"  Forgive  us,  Pierre,  we  have  been  too  hasty,"  said 
Elliot,  a  sentiment  to  which  the  others  responded. 


VENICE   PRESERVED.  Ill 

"Nay,  you  have  found  the  way  to  melt  and 
cast  me  as  you  will,"  answered  the  generous- 
hearted  soldier.  "  I'll  bring  this  friend  and  yield 
him  to  your  mercy.  And  in  him  I  give  you  my 
heart's  best  jewel." 

"Keep  him,  Pierre,"  they  answered.  "You 
dare  as  much  as  we ;  and  he  whom  you  trust  we 
should  not  doubt." 

The  fate  of  conspiracies  turns  always  on  fine 
threads.  When  on  the  very  verge  of  success  a 
,  false-blown  breath  may  topple  the  deepest-laid 
plot  into  ruin.  In  the  present  case  the  events  we 
have  described  were  so  many  links  in  a  chain  of 
circumstances  that  was  destined  to  drag  down 
Jaffier's  new  associates  into  irremediable  ruin. 

The  story  he  had  told  Belvidera  had  filled  her 
soul  with  shuddering  horror.  Her  husband  a 
traitor !  her  father  slain  by  the  dagger  of  him  she 
loved!  herself  a  prey  to  the  lust  of  that  vile 
wretch ! — this  must  not  be,  let  who  would  suffer. 
By  the  force  of  love  and  the  arguments  of  expe- 
diency she  won  her  horror-stricken  husband  over 
to  a  sense  of  the  vileness  of  his  associates.  Horror 
and  indignation  had  made  the  woman  stronger 
than  the  man,  and  sorely  against  his  will  she  led 
him  through  the  streets  towards  the  senate- 
chamber. 

"  Where  dost  thou  lead  me?"  he  demanded,  dis- 
tractedly. "Every  step  I  move,  methinks  I 
tread  upon  some  mangled  limb  of  a  racked  friend." 

"  I  lead  thee  to  a  deed,"  she  answered,  "  that 


112  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

shall  place  thy  name  high  among  those  few  that 
have  saved  sinking  nations." 

"And  of  those  who,  in  fond  compassion  to  a 
woman's  tears,  have  forgotten  their  manhood, 
virtue,  truth,  and  honor." 

"  Return,  then,  if  you  will,"  she  cried,  in  moving 
accents,  "  but  let  your  dagger  begin  on  me  its 
bloody  work.  Or  let  me  live,  if  you  think  it 
nobler,  till  I  fall  a  victim  to  the  hateful  will  of 
that  infernal  devil." 

"  Nay,  name  it  not  again !"  cried  Jaffier,  in  an 
impulse  of  rage.  "  Destruction  fall  upon  my 
coward  head  if  I  forgive  him  1" 

"Then  with  me  to  the  senate.  Your  friends, 
you  say !  have  you  a  friend  dearer  than  Belvidera  ?" 

Step  by  step,  with  arguments  like  these,  she 
drew  her  yielding  husband  through  the  midnight 
streets  towards  the  senate-chamber. 

Meanwhile  the  Doge's  council  was  in  session, 
called  together  by  old  Priuli,  to  whom  had  come 
from  some  unknown  source  a  vague  hint  of  the 
conspiracy,  fixed,  as  he  had  been  warned,  to  break 
out  that  very  night,  perhaps  that  very  hour. 
Guards  were  stationed  in  the  streets  surrounding 
the  senate-chamber,  with  orders  to  arrest  all  per- 
sons found  abroad,  and  bring  them  before  the 
council.  Into  the  hands  of  these  guards  fell 
Jaffier,  reluctantly  following  his  wife.  This  event 
fixed  his  irresolute  will.  He  bade  the  captain  of 
the  guard  to  bring  him  before  the  council,  saying 
that  he  had  an  important  revelation  to  make. 


VENICE   PRESERVED.  113 

"  We  are  prepared  to  hear  you,"  said  the  Doge, 
when  Jaffier  was  brought  before  the  council.  "  It 
is  rumored  that  a  plot  has  been  contrived  against 
the  state.  If  you  know  aught  of  this,  speak. 
You  shall  be  dealt  with  mercifully." 

"  I  came  not  here  to  save  my  life,"  answered 
Jaffier,  boldly.  "  You  see  before  you  a  sworn  foe 
of  Venice.  But  treat  me  justly,  and  I  may  prove 
a  friend." 

"The  slave  capitulates;  give  him  the  torture," 
cried  the  Doge. 

"That  you  dare  not  do.  Say  such  a  thing 
again,  by  Heaven,  I'll  shut  these  lips  forever  I" 

"  Name  your  conditions,  then." 

"  Full  pardon  for  myself,  and  the  lives  of  two 
and  twenty  friends  whose  names  I  will  give  you. 
Whatever  their  crimes,  I  will  not  speak  till  I 
have  the  oath  and  sacred  promise  of  this  reverend 
assembly  for  their  pardon  and  liberty." 

The  oath  he  proposed  was  taken  by  the  Doge 
and  assembled  senators,  who  saw  by  his  steadfast 
demeanor  that  nothing  less  would  make  him 
speak.  This  done,  Jaffier,  believing  that  he  had 
retrieved  his  honor,  handed  to  the  council  a 
paper  containing  the  names  of  his  late  asso- 
ciates, and  stating  whore  they  might  bo  found. 

Officers  were  sent  at  once  to  the  place,  where 
the  leaders  of  the  conspiracy  were  caught  in  the 
very  act  of  consultation,  armed  and  ready  for 
mischief.  They  were  brought  in  chains  before 
the  council,  some  drooping  with  terror,  some  bold 
VOL.  I.— A  10* 


114  TALES  FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

and  defiant.  Pierre,  above  all,  stood  before  them 
with  bold  demeanor,  and  bade  them  produce  the 
wretch  who  dared  call  him  a  traitor. 

At  this  demand  Jaffier  was  brought  in,  like 
them,  in  chains.  At  first  sight  Pierre  believed 
that  he,  too,  was  a  prisoner;  but  when  he,  with 
downcast  face,  acknowledged  himself  as  the 
informer,  the  brave  soldier  was  overcome. 

"  So,  then,  all's  over,"  he  mournfully  said. 
"  Venice  has  lost  her  freedom,  I  my  life.  No  more." 

"  Will  you  make  confession  of  your  vile  deeds, 
and  trust  the  senate's  mercy  ?"  asked  the  Doge. 
"  Speak ;  pardon  or  death  ?" 

"Death!  honorable  death !" 

"  Death  let  it  be,"  said  Renault. 

"  Break  up  the  council,"  commanded  the  Doge. 
"  Captain,  guard  your  prisoners.  Jaffier,  you're 
free,  but  these  must  wait  for  judgment." 

A  scene  of  heart-breaking  emotion  followed 
between  Jaffier  and  Pierre,  who  remained  to- 
gether after  the  others  had  been  removed.  The 
betrayed  soldier  broke  out  in  fiery  indignation 
against  his  false  friend,  bade  Jaffier  leave  him,  as 
a  whining  monk  whom  he  knew  not,  and  struck 
him  when  he  abjectly  begged  to  be  heard.  In 
vain  Jaffier  continued  to  implore.  Pierre  de- 
nounced him  as  a  spiritless  coward  and  traitor; 
and  when  he  begged  his  injured  friend  to  accept 
the  life  which  the  council  had  sworn  to  grant, 
the  fiery  soldier  refused  to  bear  a  life  given  by 
such  hands. 


VKNICE   PRESERVED.  115 

"  My  eyes  won't  lose  the  sight  of  thee,"  cried 
Jaffier,  in  despair. 

"Nay,  then,  thus  I  throw  thee  from  me," 
thundered  Pierre,  hurling  him  fiercely  aside. 
"  May  curses,  great  as  thy  falsehood,  catch  thee !" 

He  strode  from  the  room  with  these  words, 
leaving  Jaffier  plunged  in  the  depths  of  remorse 
and  despair. 

As  he  stood  in  this  mood,  his  fingers  nervously 
clutching  his  dagger,  which  he  was  half  inclined 
to  thrust  into  his  own  bosom,  Belvidera  entered, 
the  prey  of  a  remorse  as  deep  as  his  own.  The 
tale  she  had  to  tell  completed  his  load  of  woe. 
The  faithless  senators  had  proved  false  to  their 
oaths,  and,  on  the  quibble  that  the  prisoners  had 
refused  to  beg  for  mercy,  had  condemned  them 
all  to  torture  and  to  public  execution. 

This  dreadful  news  almost  robbed  Jaffier  of  his 
reason.  He  saw,  in  fancy,  his  betrayed  friend 
stretched  on  the  rack,  groaning  and  bleeding; 
and  in  a  paroxysm  of  rage  against  her  who  had 
betrayed  him,  drew  the  dagger  and  sought  to 
thrust  it  into  her  heart. 

"  Ah  I  do  not  kill  me,  Jaffier !"  she  cried,  shrink- 
ing from  him. 

"  When  we  parted  last,  I  gave  this  dagger  to 
be  your  portion  if  I  should  prove  false.  You've 
made  me  false,  and  must  pay  the  penalty." 

"  Mercy  1"  she  exclaimed,  as  he  raised  the 
weapon  again,  while  his  eyes  seemed  to  weep 
blood. 


116  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"Nay,  no  struggling,"  he  cried,  seizing  her 
fiercely. 

"Then  kill  me,  while  thus  I  cling  about  thy 
cruel  neck,  and  kiss  thy  revengeful  lips.  Thus 
shall  I  die  in  joy." 

She  sprang  towards  him,  flung  her  arms  around 
his  neck,  and  pressed  a  loving  kiss  upon  his  lips. 

u  But  one  blow  does  it,  yet  by  immortal  love  I 
dare  not  strike  it,"  exclaimed  Jaffier,  as  he  flung 
away  the  dagger  and  fondly  embraced  her.  "  Bel- 
videra,  you  have  enslaved  me  body  and  soul.  But 
one  hope  remains.  Fly  to  thy  cruel  father,  bid 
him  save  my  friend,  or  all  our  peace  and  happi- 
ness are  ended." 

The  unhappy  woman  obeyed,  and  by  her  tears 
and  entreaties  succeeded  in  winning  her  obdurate 
father  to  use  his  influence  to  save  at  least  the  life 
of  Pierre.  Unfortunately,  he  was  too  late.  The 
senate  had,  in  his  absence,  decreed  the  death  of 
all  the  prisoners,  and  would  not  withdraw  their 
sentence. 

The  news  of  this  fatal  action  completed  Jaffier' s 
despair,  and  roused  him  to  a  final  resolve.  He 
had  an  interview  with  Belvidera,  in  which  his 
heart  was  full  of  love,  but  his  soul  throned  in 
deadly  resolution.  He  bade  her  to  live  for  their 
child ;  for  himself,  he  was  pledged  to  death. 

"Hark!"  he  exclaimed,  "the  dismal  bell  tolls 
out  for  death!  I  must  attend  its  call,  for  my 
poor  friend,  my  dying  Pierre,  expects  me.  He 
sent  a  message  to  require  I  would  see  him  before 


VENICE   PRESERVED.  117 

he  died,  and  take  his  last  forgiveness.  Farewell 
for  ever." 

Belvidera  clung  to  him  so  firmly  that  he  was 
forced  to  tear  himself  from  her  arms,  leaving 
her  with  one  last  kiss  of  love.  This  dreadful 
parting  proved  to  much  for  the  agonized  woman. 
Her  reason  gave  way  in  the  strain  of  agony,  and 
she  rushed  from  the  spot  in  raving  madness. 

Meanwhile,  little  less  mad,  Jaffler  had  flown  to 
the  locality  of  the  execution,  in  St.  Mark's  Place, 
where  stood  the  scaffold  and  wheel  prepared  for 
Pierre's  death. 

"  Forgive  that  blow  I  dealt  you,  Jaffier,"  said 
Pierre,  in  gentle  accents.  "  I  love  you  still,  though 
you  have  slain  me.  Heaven  knows  I  need  a  friend 
at  this  sad  moment." 

"  Trust  me,  Pierre.     I'll  not  prove  false  again." 

"  Is  it  fit  that  a  soldier,  who  has  lived  with 
honor,  should  die  that  death  of  infamy?"  point- 
ing to  the  wheel.  "  Come  hither,  Jaffier.  Will 
you  do  me  this  last  justice?"  He  whispered  in 
his  friend's  ear. 

"That  only?" 

"  That,  and  no  more.' 

"I'll  do  it." 

"  Come,  captain,"  continued  Pierre.  "  Keep  off 
the  rabble,  that  I  may  die  with  decency.  I'd 
have  none  but  my  friend  beside  me  in  the  last 
moment." 

Pierre  now  ascended  the  scaffold,  attended  by 
Jaffier,  and  was  bound  by  the  executioner. 


118  TALES   FROM  THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"Now,  Jaffier!"  he   cried.     "Now  I'm  going! 


"  Have  at  thee,  honest  heart  !"  cried  Jaffier, 
stabbing  him.  "  And  this  is  well  too  I"  He  thrust 
the  bloody  weapon  into  his  own  breast. 

"Now  thou  hast  indeed  been  faithful,"  cried 
Pierre,  with  a  laugh  of  exultation.  "  That  was 
done  nobly!  We  have  deceived  the  senate." 

He  fell  with  these  words  and  died  ;  while 
Jaffier,  after  leaving  his  curse  for  the  perjured 
rulers  and  his  last  dying  blessing  for  Belvidera, 
dropped  across  the  body  of  his  friend,  and 
breathed  his  last. 

While  this  dreadful  scene  was  taking  place. 
Belvidera,  in  her  father's  home,  was  raving  in  the 
wildest  madness.  Her  agony  reached  its  climax 
when  the  captain  of  the  guard  entered,  and  un- 
thinkingly told  Priuli  before  her  of  the  bloody 
end  of  the  two  friends.  She  paused  a  moment  to 
listen,  and  then  broke  into  a  maniac  outburst  of 
horror.  At  length,  worn  out  by  the  violence  of 
her  emotions,  she  cried,  in  weakened  accents  : 

"My  love!  my  dear!  my  blessing!  help  me! 
help  me!  They  have  hold  of  me  and  drag  me 
to  the  bottom  !  Nay,  —  now  they  pull  so  hard,  — 
farewell."  She  had  knelt  during  these  words,  and 
now  fell  heavily  to  the  floor,  with  death's  pallor 
upon  her  face.  She  had  gone  to  join  her  husband 
in  heaven. 


THE  BUSYBODY, 

BY  SUSANNAH   CENTLIVRE. 


[THE  authoress  of  the  amusing  comedy  whose 
story  we  give  below,  was  the  daughter  of  a  Lin- 
colnshire gentleman  named  Freeman.  She  was 
born  about  1667,  probably  in  Ireland,  whither 
her  father  had  gone  on  the  accession  of  Charles 
II.  Being  left  a  penniless  orphan  at  eleven  years 
of  age,  she  came  to  London,  where  her  wit  and 
beauty  proved  so  attractive  that  she  won  the 
heart  of  Sir  Stephen  Fox,  whom  she  married  at 
the  age  of  sixteen.  He  died  within  a  year,  and 
she  soon  afterwards  married  an  officer  named 
Carroll,  who  was  killed  in  a  duel.  Left  destitute 
by  his  death,  she  began  writing  for  the  stage,  her 
first  work  being  a  tragedy,  "  The  Perjured  Hus- 
band," which  was  produced  in  1700.  She  after- 
wards became  an  actress  herself,  and  in  1706  mar- 
ried Joseph  Centlivre,  chief  cook  to  Queen  Anne. 
She  died  in  1723. 

She  wrote  in  all  nineteen  plays,  of  which  "  The 
Busybody,"  "A  Bold  Stroke  for  a  Husband,"  and 
others,  are  still  occasionally  played.  They  are 
marked  by  lively  plots  and  humorous  incident. 

119 


120  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

Of  these  plays,  "The   Busybody,"  whose  story 
we  give,  has  won  the  highest  reputation.] 

Sir  George  Airy,  a  young  gentleman  of  Lon- 
don, found  himself  in  the  awkward  dilemma  of 
being  in  love  with  two  ladies  at  once,  though  the 
two  but  fairly  made  up  one,  since  he  loved  the 
face  of  the  one  and  the  mind  of  the  other.  As 
he  himself  expressed  it :  "  One  is  a  lady  whose 
face  I  never  saw,  but  who  is  witty  to  a  miracle ; 
the  other  is  beautiful  as  Yenus,  but  dumb  as  an 
oracle.  I  am  charmed  by  the  wit  of  the  one,  and 
die  for  the  beauty  of  the  other." 

One  of  these  ladies,  in  fact,  he  had  never  seen 
but  under  a  mask,  and  only  knew  of  her  that  she 
had  a  sweet  voice  and  a  witty  tongue.  The  other, 
whose  beauty  he  admired,  but  whose  voice  he 
had  never  heard,  was  a  rich  young  lady  named 
Miranda,  the  ward  of  Sir  Francis  Gripe,  who  him- 
self had  designs  upon  her  fortune,  and  took  the 
greatest  pains  to  prevent  suitors  from  approach- 
ing her. 

Sir  Francis  had  a  son  named  Charles,  whom  ho 
treated  in  a  miserly  manner,  giving  him  no  money 
of  his  own,  and  little  of  that  left  him  by  his 
uncle,  which  had  been  placed  in  the  father's  care 
till  the  son  should  come  to  years  of  discretion;  a 
period  which  was  not  likely  soon  to  arrive,  in 
the  old  gentleman's  opinion.  He  had  also  a 
second  ward,  a  foolish  fellow  named  Marplot,  who 
would  certainly  never  come  to  years  of  discretion, 


THE   BUSYBODY.  121 

and  was  such  a  meddling  busybody  that,  with 
the  best  of  wishes  to  help  his  friends,  he  was  con- 
stantly hindering  them.  He  had  an  insatiable 
thirst  for  secrets,  and  in  his  prying  desire  to  know 
all  that  was  going  on,  and  to  lend  every  enterprise 
a  helping  hand,  he  managed  to  spoil  many  a  well- 
devised  scheme,  and  to  sow  the  seeds  of  a  plentiful 
crop  of  mischief  for  his  friends  to  reap. 

Sir  George  Airy  and  Charles  Gripe  were  close 
friends,  and  felt  a  community  of  sentiment  to  the 
extent  of  being  both  deep  in  love.  Charles  had 
placed  his  warm  affections  upon  Isabinda,  the 
lovely  daughter  of  Sir  Jealous  Traffic,  a  London 
merchant  of  Spanish  birth,  who,  having  arranged 
a  Spanish  match  for  his  daughter,  did  his  utmost 
to  keep  her  attractive  face  from  the  eyes  of  the 
London  gallants. 

In  this  he  had  not  very  well  succeeded.  The 
young  lady  had  met  Charles  clandestinely,  and 
fully  returned  his  love,  while  she  felt  a  deep  aver- 
sion for  the  Spanish  match.  Moreover,  Mrs. 
Patch,  whom  Sir  Jealous  had  placed  in  espionage 
over  his  daughter,  proved  a  faithless  duenna,  and 
joined  with  the  young  lady  in  every  device  to 
deceive  her  unreasonable  parent. 

These  two  love-affairs — that  of  Sir  George  with 
his  witty  unknown  and  his  beautiful  unheard, 
and  that  of  Charles  \vith  the  closely-guarded  Span- 
ish beauty — were  likely  to  give  Marplot  a  chance 
to  exercise  his  peculiar  talents.  In  fact,  Sir 
George  and  Charles  had  managed  to  rouse  the 
F  11 


122  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

curiosity  of  Marplot  to  the  highest  degree,  by 
acknowledging  in  his  presence  that  they  bad 
secrets  to  conceal.  Sir  George  did  so  by  the 
remark  that  he  had  made  an  appointment  to 
meet  Sir  Francis  on  the  oddest  bargain  he  ever 
heard  of, — but  would  not  yet  say  what  it  was. 
On  the  other  hand,  Charles's  servant  came  in  and 
whispered  to  him  that  Isabinda's  father  had,  by 
staying  at  home,  spoiled  her  plot  to  meet  him  in 
the  park,  but  that  Mrs.  Patch  was  on  the  watch, 
and  would  send  him  word  the  minute  the  old 
gentleman  went  out. 

"  What's  all  this  whispering  about?"  said  Mar- 
plot to  himself.  "  I  shall  go  stark  mad  if  I'm  not 
let  into  the  secret.  "Why  the  devil  do  they  hide 
these  things  from  friends  who  only  wish  to  help 
them  ?" 

"  Good-day.  I  think  I  see  Sir  Francis  yonder," 
said  Sir  George,  who  had  been  closely  on  the 
watch.  He  hastened  away. 

"  Marplot,  you  must  excuse  me ;  I  am  engaged," 
said  Charles,  taking  another  direction. 

"  Engaged !  Egad,  I'll  engage  my  life  to  find 
out  what  both  your  engagements  are,"  exclaimed 
the  disappointed  Marplot. 

As  regards  Sir  George,  we  may  as  well  reveal 
to  the  reader  a  fact  which  was  a  closed  secret  to 
him, — namely,  that  the  two  ladies  he  loved  were 
one  and  the  same.  The  masked  and  disguised 
lady,  whose  wit  he  so  admired,  was  really  Miranda, 
who  took  this  means  to  escape  the  watchfulness 


THE   BUSYBODY.  123 

of  her  guardian,  and  hold  stolen  interviews  with 
her  lover, — whose  affection  she  fully  returned. 
She  had,  thus  disguised,  witnessed  the  interview 
just  described,  and,  seeing  Sir  George  move  hastily 
forward,  she  followed  him  at  a  distance,  hoping 
for  an  opportunity  to  mystify  him  still  further.  To 
her  surprise,  however,  she  saw  him  meet  her  guar- 
dian, and  enter  into  earnest  conversation  with  him. 

"  What  can  this  mean  ?"  she  asked  herself, 
seeking  a  place  of  concealment  whence  she  might 
observe  them  closely. 

In  ignorance  that  a  lady  was  concealed  within 
hearing,  the  two  men  continued  their  conversa- 
tion, to  which  Miranda  listened  with  a  face  that 
was  a  study  of  expression.  What  she  heard  was 
that  Sir  George  offered  Sir  Francis  a  purse  of 
fifty  guineas,  for  some  purpose  connected  with 
herself.  This  bribe  he  increased,  at  the  sugges- 
tion of  Sir  Francis,  to  one  hundred  guineas,  for 
which  sum  the  bargain  was  concluded.  This, 
as  written  down  by  Sir  Francis,  ran  as  follows : 
';  Imprimis,  you  are  to  be  admitted  into  my  house, 
in  order  to  move  your  suit  to  Miranda,  for  the 
space  of  ten  minutes,  without  let  or  molestation, 
provided  I  remain  in  the  same  room." 

"  But  out  of  earshot,"  supplied  Sir  George. 

"  Well,  well,  I  don't  desire  to  hear  what  you 
say.  It  is  a  bargain,  Sir  George.  Take  the  last 
sound  of  your  guineas.  Ha!  hal  ha!  Miranda 
and  I  shall  have  the  jolliest  laugh  at  you,  my 
poor,  young  dupe ;"  and  he  withdrew,  clinking 


124  TALES   PROM  THE   DRAMATISTS. 

the  guineas  as  he  wont.  There  was  no  better 
music  for  his  ears. 

"  Does  she  really  love  this  old  cuff?"  soliloquized 
Sir  George.  "  Pshaw !  that's  morally  impos- 
sible. But  then,  what  hopes  have  I  ?  I  have 
never  spoken  to  her,  and  she  has  never  answered 
me,  except  so  far  as  eyes  can  talk.  Well,  well,  I 
may  be  lucky, — if  not,  it's  but  a  hundred  guineas 
thrown  away." 

"  Upon  what,  Sir  George !" 

The  speaker  was  Miranda,  who  had  come  from 
her  hiding-place,  her  face  hidden  by  a  close  mask. 

"  Ha  !  my  incognita ! — upon  a  woman,  madam." 

"  The  worst  thing  you  could  deal  in ;  and  likely 
to  damage  the  soonest,"  answered  Miranda,  with 
a  laugh.  "  You  have  heard  the  farewell  chink  of 
your  guineas,  I  fear." 

A  lively  conversation  ensued  between  them,  at 
the  end  of  which  Sir  George  begged  so  eagerly  to 
see  her  face,  and  grew  so  determined  not  to  let 
her  escape  unmasked,  that  the  frolicsome  lady 
was  in  something  of  a  quandary.  In  the  end 
she  promised,  if  he  would  excuse  her  face  and 
turn  his  back,  to  confess  why  she  had  so  often 
spoken  with  him,  who  she  was,  and  where  she 
lived. 

To  this  the  ardent  lover  willingly  agreed,  and 
Miranda  proceeded  to  tell  him  that  she  had  first 
seen  him  in  Paris,  at  a  birthday  ball,  where  she 
bad  been  charmed  into  love  for  him.  As  she 
thus  spoke,  with  a  show  of  deep  feeling,  she  drew 


THE   BUSYBODY.  125 

back,  step  by  step,  and  in  the  end  slipped  silently 
away,  while  Sir  George  stood  eagerly  listening. 

"Don't  weep,  but  go  on,"  he  said,  finding  her 
silent.  "My  heart  melts  in  your  behalf. — Poor 
lady,  she  expects  I  should  comfort  her,  and  in 
truth  she  has  said  enough  to  encourage  me."  He 
turned  around  at  this,  and  started  in  angry  sur- 
prise. "Ha!  gone! — the  devil!— jilted!  And 
this  is  all  an  invented  tale  ?  Egad,  I'd  give  ten 
guineas  to  know  who  the  gypsy  is.  A  curse  of 
my  folly,  I  deserve  to  lose  her.  What  woman  can 
forgive  a  man  who  turns  his  back  ?" 

The  romantic  lover  was  destined  to  fare  as 
poorly  in  his  interview  with  Miranda  unmasked 
as  he  had  with  Miranda  masked.  It  was  not  that 
the  girl  was  averse  to  him,  but  that  she  had  a 
purpose  of  her  own  to  gain  with  her  guardian. 
In  fact,  her  estate  was  tied  up  in  such  a  way  that 
she  was  obliged  to  seem  to  encourage  the  old  fel- 
low's love-making,  for  the  purpose  of  getting  her 
property  out  of  his  hands.  On  hearing,  then, 
from  Sir  Francis,  the  story  of  her  lover's  odd 
bargain,  she  affected  to  be  greatly  amused. 

"I  shall  die  with  laughing!"  she  exclaimed. 
"  A  hundred  pieces  to  talk  ten  minutes  with  me  I 
Ha !  ha !  ha !  what  does  the  young  fop  mean  ?" 

"  And  I  to  be  by,  too,  there's  the  jest.  If  it 
had  been  in  private,  now " 

"Mercy,  gardy,  you  might  trust  me!  Such  a 
neat,  handsome,  loving,  good-natured  old  lad  as 
you !" 

11* 


126  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"  Cunning  rogue,  and  wise,  too,  i'  faith  !"  cried 
the  foolish  old  dupe.  "To  show  you  that  you 
have  not  chosen  amiss,  I'll  this  moment  disinherit 
my  son,  and  settle  my  whole  estate  on  you." 

"  No,  no,  gardy ;  the  world  will  say  I  sold  my- 
self. But  I'll  tell  you  what  you  may  do.  You 
know  my  father's  will  runs  that  I  am  not  to 
possess  my  estate,  without  your  consent,  till  I  am 
five-and-twenty.  You  shall  favor  me  by  abating 
the  odd  seven  years,  and  making  me  mistress  of 
my  estate  to-day ;  and  we'll  see  if  I  do  not  make 
you  happy  to-morrow." 

"  Humph  !  that  may  not  be  safe,"  muttered  Sir 
Francis.  "No,  no,  my  dear,  I'll  settle  it  on  you 
for  pin-money.  That  will  be  every  bit  as  well, 
you  know." 

"  Unconscionable  old  wretch  !"  cried  Miranda 
to  herself.  "  He  would  bribe  me  with  my  own 
money !  How  shall  I  get  it  out  of  his  hands  ?" 

"  Come,  my  girl ;  what  way  do  you  propose  to 
act  to  banter  Sir  George  ?" 

"  I  must  not  banter,  Sir  George  knows  my  voice 
too  well,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  tell  you,  gardy," 
she  continued  aloud,  "  I'll  not  answer  him  a  word, 
but  be  dumb  to  all  he  says." 

"  Dumb  ?  Good !  excellent !  Ha !  ha !  ha !  she's 
the  wittiest  rogue !  How  mad  the  fellow  will  be 
to  find  he  has  paid  his  money  for  a  dumb-show.'' 

They  were  interrupted  at  this  point  in  the  con- 
versation by  the  entrance  of  Charles,  who  met 
with  but  a  surly  reception  from  his  father, — in 


THE   BUSYBODY.  127 

the  first  place,  for  breaking  in  upon  an  agreeable 
interview;  and  in  the  second,  for  hinting  that 
some  money  would  be  received  with  thanks. 
Miranda  took  the  opportunity  to  escape,  leaving 
the  penniless  son  to  the  tender  mercies  of  his 
miserly  father.  The  interview  was  so  little  agree- 
able that  Chai'les  was  not  displeased  when  it  was 
interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Marplot,  on  the 
same  errand,  as  it  proved,  for  he,  too,  wanted 
money. 

"  So !  here's  another  extravagant  coxcomb  that 
•will  spend  his  fortune  before  he  comes  to  it!" 
said  Sir  Francis  to  himself.  "  But  let  the  fool  go 
on ;  he  shall  pay  swinging  interest. — Well,  sir, 
does  necessity  bring  you,  too?" 

"  You  have  hit  it.     I  want  a  hundred  pounds." 

"  And  I  suppose  I've  got  all  I'm  likely  to  re- 
ceive," said  Charles. 

"  Ay,  sir,  and  you  may  march  as  soon  as  you 
please." 

"The  devil!"  exclaimed  Marplot  to  himself. 
"Is  he  going?  If  he  gets  out  before  me  I  shall 
lose  him  again." 

He  took  the  cheque  which  Sir  Francis  grudg- 
ingly gave  him,  and  ran  hastily  out,  eager  alike 
to  get  the  money  and  to  follow  Charles  and  his 
secret.  However,  the  chance  of  the  spendthrift 
son  was  not  quite  gone.  His  father  offered  him 
an  opportunity  to  provide  himself  abundantly 
with  funds.  This  was  by  marrying  old  Lady 
Winkle,  who  had  forty  thousand  pounds,  and  was 


128  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

in  the  market  for  a  young  husband.  Yet  to  this 
offer  the  young  man  decidedly  demurred.  The 
old  lady  had  one  blind  eye  and  a  hunchback,  as  an 
offset  to  her  wealth. 

"  A  young  and  beautiful  woman,  with  a  tenth 
of  the  money,  would  be  more  to  my  taste,"  he 
answered.  "I  thank  you,  sir;  but  you  choose 
better  for  yourself,  I  find." 

"  Out  of  my  doors,  you  dog  !  Do  you  pretend 
to  meddle  with  my  marriage,  sirrah  ?  Refuse 
forty  thousand  pounds !  Begone,  sir,  and  never 
dare  ask  me  for  money  again !" 

Charles  hastened  out  to  keep  his  temper  in. 
Hardly  had  he  disappeared  before  Marplot  hastily 
returned,  asking  for  him  eagerly.  On  learning 
that  he  had  gone,  he  was  distracted. 

"  Where  the  devil  shall  I  find  him  now  ?"  he 
exclaimed,  as  he  ran  out  again.  "  I  shall  certainly 
lose  this  secret." 

The  visits  of  Charles  and  Marplot  were  followed 
by  a  more  agreeable  one,  that  of  Sir  George,  who 
was  received  by  Sir  Francis  with  a  great  show 
of  good  humor.  After  bantering  the  lover  by 
shaking  the  bag  of  guineas  under  his  nose,  he 
brought  in  the  lady,  telling  him  that  he  might  now 
have  the  opportunity  to  win  her  love.  Sir  George 
began  by  saluting  her  rosy  lips. 

"Hold,  sir!"  cried  Sir  Francis.  "Kissing  was 
not  in  our  agreement." 

"  Oh !  that's  by  way  of  prologue.  To  your 
post,  old  Mammon,  and  do  not  meddle." 


THE   BUSYBODY.  129 

"Be  it  so,  young  Timon,"  and  Sir  Francis 
stepped  aside,  watch  in  hand.  "Ten  minutes 
only,  remember;  not  a  minute  more." 

An  amusing  scene  ensued.  Sir  George  warmly 
told  Miranda  the  story  of  his  love,  and  kneeled 
at  her  feet,  until  she  gave  him  her  hand  to  raise 
him.  At  this  Sir  Francis  ran  hastily  up,  exclaim- 
ing that  palming  was  not  in  the  contract.  Ho  drew 
back  still  more  hastily,  however,  when  the  angry 
lover  touched  his  sword  and  vowed  to  run  him 
through  if  he  did  not  keep  his  distance.  As  the 
conference  proceeded  and  the  lady  continued 
dumb,  her  quick-witted  lover  surmised  that  she 
had  been  forbidden  to  speak,  and  proposed  that  she 
should  answer  in  the  language  of  signs,  by  nodding, 
shaking  her  head,  and  sighing.  This  she  did  not 
hesitate  to  do,  much  to  her  guardian's  uneasiness. 

'•What,  a  vengeance?  Are  they  talking  by 
signs  ?"  he  ejaculated.  "  I  may  be  fooled  yet. 
What  do  you  7nean,  Sir  George?" 

"  To  cut  your  throat  if  you  dare  mutter  another 
syllable,"  answered  Sir  (George,  with  a  look  of 
fury. 

"  The  bloody-minded  wretch !  I'd  give  him  his 
money  back  if  he  were  fairly  out  of  the  house," 
groaned  Sir  Francis. 

Sir  George,  finding  the  sign-language  none  too 
satisfactory,  now  adopted  another  method.  He 
begun  a  double  conversation,  speaking  for  himself 
and  answering  for  her;  and  in  the  end  offered  a 
letter  as  if  from  her  to  himself.  She  struck  it  from 
VOL.  I. — : 


130  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

his  hand,  but  he  picked  it  up  and  kissed  it  with 
simulated  rapture. 

"  Now  for  a  quick  fancy,  and  a  long  extempore," 
he  said,  opening  it. 

"  The  time  is  up,"  cried  Sir  Francis,  running 
forward.  "Here  are  the  hundred  pounds  you 
have  won,  my  girl.  Go ;  I'll  be  with  you  presently ; 
ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"  Mercy,  Miranda,  you  won't  leave  me  just  in 
the  nick,  will  you  ?"  exclaimed  Sir  George,  as  she 
hurried  away. 

"  She  has  nicked  you  finely,  I  think,"  said  Sir 
Francis,  in  high  glee,  and  he  continued  his  jeering 
laughter  till  Sir  George,  seeing  that  Miranda  had 
really  gone,  left  the  house  in  a  rage. 

He  was  not  many  steps  distant  from  the  house, 
when  the  triumphant  old  miser  sought  his  ward, 
with  whom  he  laughed  heartily  at  the  discomfiture 
of  the  would-be  lover. 

"  Now,  when  shall  be  the  happy  day,  my  dear  ? 
When  shall  we  marry  ?"  he  tenderly  asked. 

"There's  nothing  wanting  but  your  consent, 
Sir  Francis." 

"  My  consent !"  he  repeated. 

"  It  is  only  a  whim,  but  I  wish  to  have  every- 
thing done  formally.  Therefore,  when  you  sign 
a  .paper,  drawn  by  an  able  lawyer,  that  I  have 
your  full  consent  to  marry,  then,  gardy " 

"  Oh,  come,  child,  when  I  marry  you  that  will 
be  consent  enough.  And  then,  if " 

"No  ifs,  gardy.     Have  I  refused  two  British 


THE   BUSYBODY.  131 

lords,  and  half  a  score  of  knights,  to  have  you  put 
in  your  ifs  ?" 

"So  you  have  indeed,  and  I'll  trust  to  your 
management." 

They  were  interrupted  at  this  critical  moment 
by  the  hasty  entrance  of  Marplot,  whom  the  old 
knight  sourly  asked  how  he  dared  to  plunge  in 
without  being  announced.  Marplot  replied  that 
his  business  was  not  with  him,  but  with  the  lady, 
and  that  fame  had  brought  to  his  ears  the  report 
of  a  villanous  plot  to  chouse  an  honorable  gentle- 
man out  of  a  hundred  pounds.  To  this  Miranda 
replied,  that  she  would  treat  any  fop  who  laid 
such  a  plot  against  her  the  way  she  had  treated 
this  one,  and  that  she  preferred  Sir  Francis  for  a 
husband  to  all  the  fops  in  the  universe.  He  might 
tell  all  this  to  Sir  George  Airy,  if  he  pleased,  and 
also  warn  him  to  keep  away  from  the  left-hand 
garden  gate,  for  if  he  should  dare  to  saunter  there, 
about  the  hour  of  eight,  he  should  be  saluted  with 
a  pistol  or  a  blunderbuss. 

"  Oh,  monstrous !"  exclaimed  Sir  Francis. 
"Does  this  fellow  dare  to  come  to  the  garden 
gate  ?" 

"  The  gardener  has  told  me  of  just  such  a  man, 
who  tried  to  bribe  him  for  an  entrance.  Tell  him 
he  shall  have  a  warm  reception  if  he  comes  this 
night,"  she  repeated  to  Marplot. 

"  Pistols  and  blunderbusses  1  A  warm  reception 
indeed!"  cried  Marplot.  "  I'll  advise  him  to  keep 
away." 


132  TALES   FROM   THE  DRAMATISTS. 

"And  I  hope  he'll  have  more  wit  than  to  take 
your  advice,"  said  Miranda  to  herself. 

The  ardent  busybody,  in  mortal  fear  for  the 
safety  of  his  friend,  hastened  to  Sir  George,  whom 
he  told  what  had  passed,  and  continued  : 

"  Miranda  vows,  if  you  dare  approach  the  gar- 
den gate,  as  you  used  to  do,  at  eight  o'clock  to- 
night, you  shall  be  saluted  with  a  blunderbuss. 
She  bade  me  tell  you  in  those  very  words." 

"  The  garden  gate — at  eight — as  I  used  to  do ! 
What  does  the  woman  mean  ?  Is  there  such  a 
gate,  Charles?" 

"Yes;  it  opens  into  the  park." 

"  Good.  Ha !  ha !  I  see  it  now !  My  dear 
Marplot,  let  me  embrace  you  1  You  are  my  bet- 
ter angel." 

"You  have  reason  to  be  transported,  Sir 
George ;  I  have  saved  your  life." 

"  My  life !  you  have  saved  my  soul,  man !  Here, 
drink  a  bumper  to  the  garden  gate,  you  dear 
meddlesome  rogue,  you." 

Sir  George  and  Charles,  in  fact,  became  so  jubi- 
lent  and  mysterious  in  their  allusions  to  the 
garden  gate  that  the  dull-witted  messenger  began 
to  suspect  that  there  was  a  new  secret  afloat. 

"  Egad,  there's  more  in  this  garden  gate  affair 
than  I  comprehend,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Faith, 
I'll  away  again  to  gardy's  and  find  out  what  it 
means." 

We  must,  however,  leave  Sir  George  and  his 
love-affair,  and  return  to  that  of  Charles  and 


THE   BUSYBODY.  133 

Isabinda,  which,  it  must  be  confessed,  proceeded 
no  more  favorably.  The  lady's  father,  Sir  Jealous 
Traffic,  was  determined  that  his  daughter  should 
not  fall  in  the  way  of  any  of  the  English  gallants 
before  the  arrival  of  her  expected  Spanish  lover, 
and  therefore  had  bidden  Mrs.  Patch  to  keep  the 
strictest  watch  upon  her.  He  had  more  confidence 
in  this  English  duenna  than  she  deserved,  yet  not 
so  much  as  to  trust  her  fully.  On  the  occasion  of 
which  we  have  already  spoken,  Mrs.  Patch  waited 
demurely  till  he  had  left  the  house,  and  then 
quickly  opened  the  door,  and  beckoned  to  Whisper, 
Charles's  servant,  who  was  lurking  outside.  She 
bade  him  to  fly  in  all  haste,  and  tell  his  master 
that  his  lady  love  was  now  alone. 

It  unluckily  happened  that  this  newa  was 
brought  to  Charles  while  Marplot  was  with  him, 
and  threw  him  into  such  a  joyous  excitement  as  to 
convince  the  curious  busybody  that  a  new  secret 
was  afoot.  He  became  the  more  convinced  when 
Charles  absolutely  forbade  him  to  go  with  him. 

"  Mum, — you  know  I  can  be  silent  upon  occa- 
sion," he  said. 

"  I  wish  you  could  be  civil,  too,"  answered 
Charles.  "Farewell." 

"  Why,  then,"  said  the  disappointed  Marplot  to 
himself,  "  if  I  can't  attend  you,  there's  nothing 
left  but  to  follow  you." 

It  would  have  been  wiser  in  Charles  to  take 
him  along,  for  Marplot,  with  the  best  intentions 
in  the  world,  had  a  wonderful  capacity  for  doing 
12 


134  TALES   FROM   THE  DRAMATISTS. 

the  right  thing  the  wrong  way.  He  followed 
Charles  to  the  house,  saw  him  admitted  by  Mrs. 
Patch,  and  stood  before  the  door  in  a  quandary. 

"  Who  the  deuce  lives  there  ?"  he  ejaculated. 
"  The  risky  fellow  may  be  running  into  danger, 
for  aught  I  know.  I  don't  like  the  way  he  was 
let  in.  Foolish  boy,  in  spite  of  your  endeavor  to 
keep  me  out  of  the  secret,  I  may  save  your  life 
yet.  I'll  plant  myself  at  that  corner,  and  watch 
all  that  come  and  go." 

Not  many  minutes  elapsed  before  he  saw  a 
person  approaching,  who  was  muttering  sourly 
to  himself.  It  was  Sir  Jealous,  who  had  caught 
sight  of  Whisper  lurking  near  his  door,  and  had 
been  so  troubled  thereby  that  he  felt  obliged  to 
return. 

"  There  was  something  secret  in  the  fellow's 
face,"  he  muttered.  "  By  St.  lago,  if  I  should 
find  a  man  in  the  house  I'd  make  mince-meat  of 
him  I" 

"  Mince-meat  1"  exclaimed  Marplot,  who  over- 
heard this.  "  Ah,  poor  Charles  !  Egad,  he's  old. 
I  might  bully  him  a  little." 

"  My  own  key  shall  let  me  in,"  continued  Sir 
Jealous.  "  I'll  give  them  no  warning," 

"  What's  that  you  say,  sir  ?"  asked  Marplot, 
stepping  boldly  up. 

"  What's  that  to  you,  sir  ?"  exclaimed  Sir 
Jealous,  turning  quickly  upon  him. 

"  Why,  it  is  this  to  me,  sir,  that  the  gentleman 
you  threaten  is  an  honest  man  and  my  friend.  If 


THE   BUSYBODY.  135 

he  come  not  as  safe  out  of  your  house  as  he  went 
in,  I  have  a  dozen  myrmidons  near  by  who  shall 
beat  your  house  about  your  ears." 

"  Went  in  ?  What,  is  he  in,  then  ?  I'll  myr- 
midon you,  you  dog!  Thieves!  thieves!"  The 
choleric  old  gentleman  fell  upon  Marplot  as  he 
cried  "thieves!"  and  beat  him  so  roundly  with 
his  cane  that  the  victim  of  his  own  curiosity 
yelled  "  murder  "  in  return. 

While  this  scene  was  taking  place  outside, 
there  was  no  little  commotion  within.  Mrs.  Patch, 
who  had  been  on  guard,  had  seen  her  master  in 
good  time,  and  warned  the  lovers.  It  was  too 
late  to  escape  by  the  door,  and  not  safe  to  take 
refuge  in  closet  or  cupboard,  for  Sir  Jealous,  if 
he  had  any  suspicion,  would  search  every  hole  in 
the  house. 

"  I  have  it,"  said  Mrs.  Patch.  <:  Eun  to  your 
chamber,  miss.  I'll  take  him  to  the  balcony, 
whence  he  may  easily  descend  to  the  street." 

"  Good  !  lead  on !"  cried  Charles. 

Meanwhile  the  aspect  of  affairs  outside  had 
changed.  The  irate  father,  after  working  off 
some  of  his  wrath  upon  the  busybody,  had 
stamped  furiously  into  the  house,  and  slammed 
the  door  violently  behind  him;  while  Marplot, 
honestly  anxious  to  rescue  his  friend  from  an  old 
man  with  such  unexpected  vigor  of  arm,  was 
shouting  "  murder  "  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  His 
cries  were  brought  to  a  sudden  end  by  Charles, 
who  dropped  upon  him  from  the  balcony. 


136  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"  How  the  devil  came  you  here  ?"  cried  the 
angry  lover. 

"  Here !  Why,  I've  done  you  a  neat  bit  of  ser 
vice,  man.  I  told  the  old  thunderbolt  that  the 
gentleman  who  was  gone  in  was " 

"  You  told  him !"  exclaimed  Charles,  in  a  sud- 
den rage,  shaking  him  violently.  "  Fool !  I 
could  crush  you  to  atoms !" 

"So!  he  beats  me  for  my  valor,  and  you  choke 
me  for  my  kindness !  I'm  ready  to  vow  never  to 
do  anything  to  help  my  friends  again." 

Sir  Jealous,  meanwhile,  was  turning  the  house 
almost  upside-down  in  his  angry  search  for  the 
hidden  lover,  having  first  locked  his  daughter  in 
her  room,  where  he  bade  Patch  to  keep  close 
guard  over  her.  His  efforts  proved  useless,  how- 
ever ;  the  bird  had  safely  flown ;  and  the  old  fellow 
subsided  into  muttered  threats  to  consign  her  as 
quickly  as  possible  to  the  arms  of  Don  Diego 
Babinetto,  the  expected  suitor  from  Spain. 

The  adventures  of  the  lovers  for  that  day  were 
not  yet  over.  In  their  brief  interview  they  had 
devised  a  plan  by  which  Charles  might  enter  the 
house  with  less  danger  of  discovery.  This  was 
by  aid  of  a  closet  window  and  a  rope  ladder,  the 
opening  of  the  window  to  be  a  signal  that  the 
coast  was  clear.  They  had  also  a  plan  by  which 
he  could  write  to  her  without  danger  of  having 
his  letters  read,  he  having  contrived  a  secret 
alphabet  for  this  purpose. 

Proceeding  to  an  inn,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  Isa- 


THE    BUSYBODY.  137 

binda  in  this  character,  and  gave  it  to  Whisper, 
instructing  him  to  deliver  it  secretly  to  Mrs. 
Patch.  Whisper  accomplished  this  safely,  and 
the  faithful  Patch  dropped  the  letter,  as  she  sup- 
posed, into  her  pocket,  though  it  really  missed 
the  opening  and  slipped  to  the  floor.  She  told 
Whisper  that  there  was  likely  to  be  an  oppor- 
tunity for  the  lovers  to  meet  again  that  evening. 
Sir  Jealous  had  invited  some  friends  to  sup  with 
him,  and  while  they  were  at  table,  the  lover 
might  use  the  rope  ladder  and  the  closet  win- 
dow, for  an  interview  with  his  sweetheart.  This 
information  given,  Mrs.  Patch  hastened  into  the 
house,  in  ignorance  of  the  fate  of  her  letter. 

Not  many  minutes  afterwards,  Sir  Jealous 
appeared  with  an  open  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  Sir  Diego  has  safely  arrived.  He  shall  marry 
my  daughter  the  minute  he  comes,"  he  said. 
"What's  here?  A  letter?  On  my  steps?"  He 
picked  up  the  letter  which  Patch  had  dropped, 
and  opened  it  without  hesitation.  "Humph! 
is  this  Hebrew  ?  There's  some  trick  in  it,  on  my 
life.  It  was  certainly  designed  for  my  daughter, 
and  this  may  be  one  of  love's  hieroglyphics." 

At  almost  the  same  moment  Patch  discovered 
her  loss,  much  to  the  alarm  of  herself  and  her 
mistress. 

"  I  must  have  dropped  it  on  the  stairs,"  she 
said.  "  Thank  heaven,  no  one  but  you  can  read 
it." 

"If  my  father  finds  it  ho  will  be  sure  to  scent 
12* 


138  TALES   FROM  THE   DRAMATISTS. 

mischief.  What  do  you  want,  Thomas  ?"  as  a  ser- 
vant entered  the  room. 

"  My  master  ordered  me  to  lay  the  cloth  in  this 
room  for  supper." 

"  In  this  room !  Then  all  is  over.  He  has 
found  the  letter.  We  are  ruined.  Fly  and  fasten 
the  closet  window,  Patch ;  that  will  warn 
Charles." 

Before  this  order  could  be  obeyed  Sir  Jealous 
entered. 

"  Hold  there,  Patch  ;  where  are  you  going  ?"  he 
demanded.  "I'll  have  nobody  stir  out  of  this 
room  till  after  supper.  Hark  ye,  daughter,  do 
you  know  this  hand  ?"  He  showed  Isabinda  the 
letter. 

"Hand,  sir?"  she  asked,  innocently.  "What 
odd  writing.  Do  you  understand  it  ?" 

"  I  wish  I  did." 

"  Then  I  know  no  more  of  it  than  you." 

"  Ah,  sir,  where  did  you  get  that  ?"  cried  Patch. 
"  That  paper  is  mine."  She  snatched  it  abruptly 
from  his  hand. 

"  Yours,  mistress?"  he  queried. 

"Yes,  sir;  it  is  a  charm  for  the  toothache, — I 
have  worn  it  these  seven  years.  How  could  I 
have  dropped  it  ?  I  was  charged  never  to  open 
it,  and  I  do  not  know  what  will  happen  from  your 
opening  it." 

"The  deuce  take  your  charm!  Is  that  all? 
Burn  it,  woman,  and  pull  out  your  next  aching 
tooth." 


THE   BUSYBODY.  139 

The  easy  settlement  of  this  difficulty,  however, 
far  from  relieving  the  two  women  from  their 
anxiety.  Charles  would  surely  come,  and  how 
were  they  to  warn  him  ?  Sir  Jealous,  who  seemed 
suddenly  in  a  musical  humor,  demanded  that  they 
should  sing,  but  Isabinda  became  immediately 
afflicted  with  a  severe  cold,  while  Patch  pretended 
to  be  so  frightened  about  the  opening  of  the  charm 
that  she  vowed  she  could  not  remember  one  song. 
He  insisted,  however,  that  Isabinda  should  play 
and  Patch  should  sing,  and  accordingly  had  his 
ears  regaled  with  so  frightful  a  discord  that  he 
threatened  to  break  the  piano  about  their  ears. 

In  the  midst  of  the  music  what  the  frightened 
women  had  feared  took  place :  Charles  ascended 
to  the  closet,  and  opened  the  door  on  hearing  the 
music,  but  started  hastily  back  on  seeing  Sir 
Jealous. 

"Hell  and  fury!"  cried  the  suspicious  father. 
"  A  man  in  the  closet  I" 

"  A  ghost !  a  ghost !"  screamed  Patch  ;  while 
Isabinda,  with  a  shriek  of  assumed  fright,  threw 
herself  on  the  floor  before  the  closet  door,  as  if  in 
a  swoon. 

"  The  devil !  I'll  make  a  ghost  of  him,  I  war- 
rant you !"  cried  Sir  Jealous,  trying  to  get  past 
his  daughter. 

"  Have  a  care,  sir,"  exclaimed  Patch,  "  you'll 
tread  on  my  lady.  Oh,  this  comes  of  opening  the 
charm!  Oh!  oh!" 

"  I'll  charm  you,  housewife !    Take  her  from  the 


140  TALES   PROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

door,  or  I'll  throw  you  both  down  stairs.  Come 
out,  you  rascal!" 

He  broke  into  the  closet,  in  a  murderous  rage, 
while  the  women  laughed  quietly  behind  his  back 
at  his  discomfiture. 

"  He  is  too  late.   The  bird  has  flown,"  said  Patch. 

"  I  was  almost  dead  in  earnest  with  the  fright," 
answered  Isabinda. 

In  a  minute  more  Sir  Jealous  stamped  back, 
livid  with  anger. 

"  The  dog  has  escaped  out  of  the  window,  for 
the  sash  is  up,"  he  exclaimed.  "  But  though  he 
is  out  of  my  reach,  you  are  not.  Come,  Mrs. 
Pander,  with  your  charms  for  the  toothache,  get 
out  of  my  house.  Go ! — troop !  I'll  see  you  out 
myself;  but  I'll  secure  this  ghost-seeing  young 
lady  before  I  go." 

He  pushed  Isabinda  into  a  room,  locked  the 
door,  and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket;  and  then 
hustled  Patch  to  the  house-door,  driving  her  into 
the  street  in  spite  of  her  remonstrances. 

As  it  turned  out,  however,  the  angry  father  had 
worked  to  his  own  discomfiture,  for  the  discarded 
duenna  was  no  sooner  in  the  street  than  she  saw 
Charles,  who  was  hovering  about  the  house.  In 
a  few  words  she  told  him  what  had  happened,  and 
went  on  to  mention  the  arrival  of  the  young 
Spaniard,  and  Sir  Jealous's  determination  to  marry 
off  his  daughter  at  once.  The  cunning  woman 
now  proposed  a  shrewd  scheme.  Sir  Jealous  had 
never  seen  Don  Diego.  Charles  spoke  Spanish, 


THE   BUSYBODY.  141 

and  could  personate  him.  She  had  in  her  pocket 
a  letter  from  his  father,  which  Sir  Jealous  had 
dropped.  From  this  he  could  counterfeit  a  letter 
introducing  himself  as  Don  Diego,  and  by  prompt 
action  might  make  Isabinda  his  wife  before  the 
Spanish  suitor  appeared.  This  scheme  promised 
so  well  that  Charles  instantly  resolved  to  adopt  it, 
and  led  his  ready-witted  confederate  to  his  lodg- 
ings, that  they  might  take  the  necessary  prelimi- 
nary steps. 

While  Charles  was  thus  getting  into  and  out  of 
difficulties,  a  similar  fortune  attended  his  friend 
Sir  George.  He  took  care  to  present  himself  in 
good  time  at  the  garden-gate  rendezvous,  and  was 
there  met  by  Miranda's  servant,  who  led  him  by 
secret  ways  into  the  house.  Here  he  found  him- 
self most  agreeably  surprised,  for  on  meeting 
Miranda,  he  found  not  only  that  she  was  no  longer 
dumb,  but  at  her  first  words  he  recognized  the 
voice  of  the  masked  incognita,  with  whose  wit 
he  was  already  in  love.  This  discovery  filled  his 
heart  with  joy.  The  two  women  of  his  affection 
had  become  one.  And  he  was  the  more  rejoiced 
when  he  learned  that  Miranda  had  wheedled  her 
guardian  into  making  her  mistress  of  her  own 
property,  and  had  got  him  out  of  the  way  by  send- 
ing him  on  a  false  journey  to  Epsom,  on  pretence 
that  a  brother  miser  there  wished  to  make  him 
his  executor. 

All  was  in  the  best  train  for  the  marriage  of  the 
lovers  and  the  cheating  of  the  miser.  But  this 


142  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

smiling  condition  of  affairs  was  destined  to  be 
quickly  clouded  over  through  Marplot's  pernicious 
activity.  He,  inspired  by  fear  that  Miranda  might 
really  shoot  his  friend  Sir  George  at  the  garden 
gate,  met  Sir  Francis,  and  induced  him  to  return 
home.  They  entered  so  suddenly,  indeed,  that 
there  was  no  chance  for  the  lover  to  escape,  and 
the  only  resource  was  to  hide  him  behind  the 
chimney-board  of  her  room. 

As  it  turned  out,  this  was  a  dangerous  hiding- 
place.  Sir  Francis  was  eating  an  orange,  and  de- 
sired to  throw  the  peel  into  the  hearth.  Miranda,  at 
a  loss  how  to  hinder  him  from  disturbing  the  board 
that  concealed  her  lover,  finally  protested  that 
she  had  a  monkey  shut  up  there,  which  had  just 
been  sent  her,  and  was  too  wild  to  be  let  loose. 

This  invention  gave  rise  to  a  new  trouble.  Sir 
Francis  was  satisfied,  but  Marplot  was  not.  He 
professed  to  have  a  passion  for  monkeys,  and 
insisted  so  strongly  on  seeing  the  animal  that  the 
distressed  girl  had  to  call  her  guardian  to  her 
aid.  At  length,  to  her  great  relief,  Sir  Francis's 
coach  was  announced,  and  she  got  him  from  the 
room,  leaving  Marplot  there  alone. 

The  curiosity  of  the  busybody  could  no  longer 
be  restrained.  He  hastened  to  get  a  peep  at  the 
monkey,  when  out  broke  Sir  George  in  a  tearing 
passion,  while  the  meddler,  not  recognizing  him 
in  his  fright,  started  back,  with  cries  of  "  O 
Lord!  thieves!  thieves!  murder!" 

"  Damn   you,    you    unlucky   dog !"    cried    Sir 


THE   BUSYBODY.  143 

George.  "  Show  me  a  way  out  instantly,  or  I'll 
cut  your  throat !" 

"Take  that  door,"  cried  Marplot,  who  now 
knew  him.  "But  hold;  first  break  that  china, 
and — I'll  bring  you  off." 

Sir  George  did  as  suggested,  flinging  some 
pieces  of  china  to  the  floor,  and  running  from  the 
room  just  as  Sir  Francis  and  Miranda  returned. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  cried  Sir  Francis. 

"  I  beg  you  to  forgive  me,"  exclaimed  Marplot. 
"  I  only  raised  the  board  a  little  to  peep  at  the 
monkey,  when  out  the  creature  flew,  scratched 
my  face,  broke  that  china,  and  whisked  out  of 
the  window." 

"  You  meddling  rogue !"  cried  Sir  Francis.  "  Out 
of  my  house  at  once !  Call  the  servants  to  get 
the  monkey  again ;  I  must  be  away." 

"  Don't  stay,  gardy,"  said  Miranda.  "  Trust  mo 
to  bring  back  my  monkey." 

After  she  had  got  her  guardian  fairly  off,  she 
turned  on  Marplot  with  a  sharpness  that  was  lit- 
tle to  his  liking. 

"  Who  could  think  you  meant  a  rendezvous 
when  you  talked  of  a  blunderbuss  ?"  he  exclaimed ; 
':  or  that  you  meant  a  lover  when  you  prated  of 
a  monkey  ?  Nobody  can  be  more  useful  than  I 
when  I'm  let  into  a  secret,  nor  more  unlucky 
when  I'm  kept  out." 

We  may  pass  more  rapidly  over  the  succeeding 
circumstances.  Before  they  were  ready  to  leave 
the  room  Mrs.  Patch  appeared,  and  Marplot's 


144  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

curiosity  was  again  excited  by  a  whispered  con- 
versation, in  which  the  duenna  told  Sir  George 
of  the  plot  to  marry  Charles  and  Isabinda,  and 
asked  for  his  aid  in  the  project.  He  answered 
that  he  would  be  glad  to  assist,  but  had  a  little 
matter  of  marriage  on  his  own  hands,  which  he 
must  get  rid  of  first. 

This  was  soon  accomplished.  A  half-hour  suf- 
ficed to  make  Sir  George  and  Miranda  one  in  law, 
as  they  were  already  one  in  love.  They  were 
none  too  expeditious,  as  it  proved,  for  the  parson 
had  but  faii'ly  disappeared  when  Sir  Francis 
entered,  declaring  that  he  had  been  cheated  by 
some  rogue  ;  for  he  had  met  his  dying  friend  on 
the  road,  alive  and  well.  It  was  necessary  to  get 
him  out  of  the  house  again,  so  that  Miranda 
could  complete  the  work  of  obtaining  the  papers 
relating  to  her  estate.  To  do  this  she  pretended 
that  Mrs.  Patch  had  been  sent  to  invite  him  to 
her  lady's  wedding,  and  slily  hinted  that  possibly 
the  sight  of  the  happy  couple  might  tempt  her  to 
make  some  one  else  happy.  This  was  enough  for 
the  uxorious  old  rogue.  He  set  off  in  haste,  under 
Patch's  guidance,  leaving  Miranda  to  complete 
her  task. 

Meanwhile  affairs  were  proceeding  favorably 
at  the  house  of  Sir  Jealous.  Sir  George  bad  made 
all  haste  from  his  own  marriage  to  aid  in  that  of 
his  friend,  and  accompanied  the  seeming  Spaniard 
to  the  merchant's  house,  where  Charles,  speaking 
good  Castilian,  offered  a  letter  of  introduction, 


THE   BUSYBODY.  145 

which  Sir  Jealous  read  with  great  satisfaction. 
Sir  George,  who  had  assumed  the  name  of  Mean- 
well,  stated  that  his  correspondent  wished  the 
marriage  to  be  performed  at  once,  as  he  did  not 
care  to  expose  his  susceptible  son  to  the  attractions 
of  the  English  beauties. 

This  project  fitted  very  well  with  the  humor  of 
the  suspicious  parent.  But  one  thing  remained  to 
be  done,  he  said.  Where  were  the  five  thousand 
crowns  which  had  been  promised  as  a  marriage 
dowry  on  Don  Pedro's  part  ?  Here  was  an  un- 
looked-for dilemma  which  sadly  puzzled  the  con- 
spirators. Sir  George  hesitated  and  stammered, 
"  that  money  was  dangerous  to  send  by  sea,  and — 
and " 

"  Zounds,  say  we  have  brought  it  in  commodi- 
ties," whispered  Charles. 

"And  so,"  continued  Sir  George,  taking  the 
cue,  "  he  has  sent  it  in  merchandise  j  tobacco, 
sugar,  spices,  lemons,  and  so  forth,  which  can  be 
readily  turned  into  money.  In  the  mean  time, 
if  you  will  accept  my  bond " 

"  Say  no  more,"  exclaimed  Sir  Jealous.  "  I 
like  Signor  Diego's  face  and  your  name,  and  will 
take  your  word.  My  daughter  shall  be  brought  this 
moment,  and  the  chaplain  be  sent  for  immediately." 

The  bringing  of  Isabinda,  however,  was  not  an 
easy  task.  Her  lover  had  had  no  opportunity  to 
acquaint  her  with  his  plot,  and,  thinking  that  she 
was  really  to  be  married  to  the  Spanish  suitor, 
she  resisted  and  begged  for  mercy,  till  in  the  end 
YOL.  I.— a  k  13 


146  TALES   PROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

Sir  George  told  the  father  that  he  was  too  harsh, 
and  asked  that  he  might  try  and  persuade  her. 

The  effect  of  his  persuasions  was  miraculous.  A 
minute's  whispered  conversation  so  changed  the 
young  lady's  humor  that  he  had  to  caution  her  not 
to  be  too  hasty  or  she  would  spoil  all.  What  he  had 
whispered  was,  that  if  she  would  look  upon  the 
Spaniard  she  would  see  one  whom  she  loved  dearly. 

"  She  begins  to  hear  reason,"  said  Sir  George. 
"  The  fear  of  being  turned  out  of  doors  has  done  it. 
Speak  to  her  gently,  sir,  and  I'm  sure  she'll  yield." 

Sir  Jealous  now  tried  this  plan,  and  found  his 
daughter  surprisingly  tractable.  He  gave  her 
hand  to  Charles  just  as  the  servant  announced 
that  the  parson  had  arrived.  All,  so  far,  was 
going  well,  and  they  proceeded  in  high  good 
humor  to  the  parlor,  where  the  ceremony  was  to 
be  performed.  But  at  this  critical  juncture  the 
unhappy  genius  of  Marplot  again  threatened  to 
spoil  all. 

That  busybody  had  got  on  the  track  of  this 
new  secret,  and  by  active  inquiry  had  learned 
that  Charles  had  hired  a  Spanish  dress.  Seeing 
Whisper  near  the  house  of  Sir  Jealous,  he  fancied 
that  his  secretive  friend  had  returned  to  this 
dangerous  locality.  To  resolve  this  doubt  he 
questioned  Thomas,  one  of  the  servants  of  the 
house,  asking  if  a  gentleman  dressed  in  a  Spanish 
habit  was  within. 

"  There's  a  Spanish  gentleman  just  going  to 
marry  our  young  lady,  sir." 


THE  BUSYBODY.  147 

"  Are  you  sure  he  is  Spanish  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  he  speaks  no  English." 

"  Then  it  is  not  him  I  want.  It  is  an  English 
gentleman,  in  a  Spanish  dress,  whom  I  am  seek- 
ing." 

"  Ah !"  said  Thomas  to  himself.  "  Can  this  be 
an  impostor  ?  I'll  inform  my  master. — Come  in, 
sir,  and  see  if  it  is  the  person  you  seek." 

«  Lead  on,  I'll  follow  you." 

There  was  soon  an  abundance  of  mischief 
afloat.  Sir  Jealous  was  called  by  Thomas  from 
the  parlor  and  informed  of  Marplot's  errand,  and 
it  took  that  meddlesome  individual  no  long  time 
to  convince  the  suspicious  merchant  that  there 
was  something  wrong. 

"  Is  there  a  trick  here  ?"  he  exclaimed.  "  Is 
this  truly  Don  Diego?  My  heart  misgives  me 
sorely.  Within  there — stop  the  marriage — run, 
Thomas,  and  call  all  my  servants !  On  my  life, 
I'll  be  satisfied  that  this  is  Don  Pedro's  son, 
before  he  has  my  daughter." 

This  outcry  brought  Sir  George  into  the  room, 
sword  in  hand. 

"What's  the  matter  here?"  he  asked.  "Ha! 
Marplot  here,  that  unlucky  dog  !" 

"  Upon  my  soul,  Sir  George "  began  Mar- 
plot. 

"  Sir  George !  Then  I  am  betrayed !"  yelled  the 
merchant.  "  Thieves  I  traitors !  stop  the  mar- 
riage, I  say " 

"And  I  say,  go  on,  Mr.  Tackum,"  cried  Sir 


148  TALES   PROM   THE  DRAMATISTS. 

George,  as  he  interposed,  with  drawn  sword.  "  I 
guard  this  passage,  old  gentleman.  Stand  back, 
dogs, or  I'll  prick  your  jackets  for  you!"  he  ex- 
claimed, as  the  servants  entered. 

"  On  him,  sirrahs !  I'll  settle  for  this  one,"  and 
the  old  man  fell  upon  Marplot  with  his  cane. 

At  this  moment  Charles  and  Isabinda  entered, 
hand  in  hand. 

"  Seize  her !"  cried  the  enraged  father. 

"  Touch  her  if  you  dare !"  exclaimed  Charles, 
fiercely.  "  She's  my  wife,  and  I'll  make  dog's 
meat  of  the  man  that  lays  hands  on  her." 

"  Ah  !  downright  English !"  groaned  Sir  Jealous. 

As  he  spoke,  the  outer  door  opened,  and  Sir 
Francis,  Miranda,  and  Mrs.  Patch  entered  the 
room,  Sir  Francis  with  words  of  congratulation. 

To  his  utter  surprise,  he  found  himself  assailed 
bitterly  by  Sir  Jealous,  who  accused  him  of  hav- 
ing laid  a  plot  to  trick  him  out  of  his  daughter. 
This  was  followed  by  a  demand  to  know  what  he 
would  give  his  son  to  maintain  his  new  wife  on. 

"  Trick  you !"  cried  Sir  Francis.  "  Egad,  I 
think  you  designed  to  trick  me !  Look  you,  gen- 
tlemen, I  fancy  I  shall  trick  you  both.  Not  a 
penny  of  my  money  shall  this  beggar  handle.  All 
my  estate  shall  descend  to  the  children  of  the 
lady  you  see  here." 

"  I  shall  be  extremely  obliged  to  you  for  that," 
said  Sir  George. 

"Hold,  sir,  you  have  nothing  to  say  to  this 
lady,"  exclaimed  Sir  Francis,  testily. 


THE   BUSYBODY.  149 

"And  you  nothing  to  my  wife,"  answered  Sir 
George,  as  he  clasped  Miranda's  hand. 

"Your  wife?  What  means  this,  mistress? 
Have  you  choused  me  out  of  my  consent  ?" 

"  Even  so,  guardian.  But  it's  my  first  offence, 
and  I  hope  you'll  forgive  it." 

"  Ha  1  ha  !  ha !"  laughed  Sir  Jealous,  with  a 
sudden  change  of  humor.  "  It  is  some  comfort 
to  find  that  you  are  overreached  as  well  as  my- 
self. "Will  you  settle  your  estate  upon  your  son 
now?" 

"  He  shall  starve  first." 

"  Not  so,  gardy,"  answered  Miranda.  "  Here, 
Charles,  are  the  writings  of  your  uncle's  estate, 
which  have  been  your  due  these  three  years." 

""What,  have  you  robbed  me,  too,  mistress? 
I'll  make  you  restore  them,  hussy." 

"  Take  care  I  don't  make  you  pay  the  ar- 
rears," said  Sir  Jealous.  "  It  is  well  it's  no  worse, 
since  it's  no  better.  Come,  young  man,  since  you 
have  outwitted  me,  take  her, — and  bless  you 
both." 

"  I  hope,  sir,  you'll  bestow  your  blessing  too," 
said. Charles,  kneeling  to  his  father. 

"Do,  gardy,  and  make  us  happy,"  pleaded 
Miranda. 

"  Confound  you  all !"  cried  Sir  Francis,  rushing 
from  the  room  in  a  rage. 

"  Never  mind,  Charles.     He  will  come  all  right 
in  the  end.     "We  shall  all  be  happy,  since  this 
gentleman  forgives  you." 
13* 


150  TALES   FROM  THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"  It  is  my  custom  to  avoid  dangers,"  said  Sir 
Jealous ;  "  but  when  a  thing  is  past,  I  have  the 
philosophy  to  accept  it." 

"  And  so  everybody  is  happy  but  poor  Pilgar- 
lick,"  said  Marplot.  "What  satisfaction  shall  I 
have  for  being  cuffed,  kicked,  and  beaten  in  your 
services  ?" 

"  You  have  been  too  busy,  friend  Marplot ;  but 
I'll  repay  you  by  making  Sir  Francis  yield  you 
your  estate." 

"  That  will  make  me  as  happy  as  any  of  you." 

And  so,  at  the  request  of  Sir  Jealous,  who  bad 
become  fully  reconciled  to  the  situation,  they 
buried  the  past  in  a  cheerful  glass,  and  all  went 
merry  as  a  marriage-bell. 


THE  BEAUX  STRATAGEM, 

BY  GEOEGE   FAKQUHAK. 


[The  so-called  "  dramatists  of  the  Eestoration" 
form  a  body  of  playwrights  whose  works  hold  a 
high  position  as  dramatic  literature,  but  the  best 
of  which  have  lost  their  hold  upon  the  stage 
through  their  immorality.  These  writers  include 
Dryden,  Wycherley,  Vanbrugh,  Congreve,  Far- 
quhar,  Gibber,  and  Mrs.  Centlivre,  whose  "  Busy- 
body" we  have  just  given.  As  a  dramatist, 
Dryden  was  not  successful,  and  none  of  his  many 
plays  have  gained  a  favorable  verdict  from  the 
critics.  The  spirited  comedies  of  Wycherley  and 
Congreve,  the  ablest  of  these  authors,  are  too 
deeply  immoral  for  reproduction,  while  they  are 
lacking  in  the  story  element,  their  strength  lying 
more  in  witty  repartee  than  in  interest  of  plot. 
Of  all  the  plays  of  the  period,  only  those  of  Mrs. 
Centlivre  and  Mr.  Farquhar  hold,  a  place  on  the 
modern  stage.  We,  therefore,  confine  our  selec- 
tions to  these  two  dramatists. 

George  Farquhar  was  born  in  Londonderry, 
Ireland,  in  1678,  educated  at  Trinity  College, 
Dublin,  and  became  an  actor  on  the  Dublin  stage. 

J61 


152  TALES   FROM  THE   DRAMATISTS. 

He  proved  an  indifferent  performer,  and  left  the 
stage  through  remorse  at  having  injured  a  fellow- 
actor.  Seeking  London,  he  obtained  a  commission 
in  a  regiment  stationed  in  Ireland,  and  in  1698 
produced  his  first  comedy,  "  Love  and  a  Bottle." 
This  proved  successful,  and  he  continued  to  write, 
producing  a  number  of  plays,  of  which  two,  "  The 
Eecruiting  Officer"  and  "The  Beaux  Stratagem," 
were  far  superior  to  the  others,  and  are  still  occa- 
sionally played. 

Farquhar's  life  was  an  unfortunate  one.  He 
married  a  penniless  adventuress,  supposing  her  to 
be  rich,  fell  into  pecuniary  difficulties,  sold  his 
commission,  and  died  poor  in  1706 ;  his  best  play, 
"The  Beaux  Stratagem,"  being  written  during 
his  last  illness.  It  proved  highly  successful,  but 
while  its  wit  and  invention  were  filling  London 
with  laughter,  its  author  lay  dying  in  poverty. 

Farquhar  ranks  with  the  best  of  our  comic 
dramatists,  his  plays  possess  much  variety  of 
humorous  incident,  and,  while  not  the  equal  of 
some  of  his  contemporaries  in  wit,  he  surpasses 
them  in  feeling  and  sentiment.  "VYe  append  tbe 
dtory  of  "  The  Beaux  Stratagem."] 

Mr.  Aim  well  and  Mr.  Archer,  two  London 
gentlemen  of  reduced  fortune  and  slender  ex- 
pectations, had  deemed  it  advisable  to  leave  the 
capital,  with  the  hope  of  winning  wealth  in  the 
provinces.  In  this  enterprise,  not  having  money 
enough  to  support  them  both  as  gentlemen,  or  to 


THE   BEAUX   STRATAGEM.  153 

provide  servants,  they  decided  to  pursue  their 
journey  in  the  capacity  of  master  and  servant, 
under  the  following  arrangement.  Aim  well  was 
to  act  as  master  at  their  first  stopping-place, 
Archer  at  the  second,  and  so  on  alternately ;  it 
being  understood  that  they  should  equally  divide 
the  profits  of  their  enterprise,  whether  these 
profits  came  from  the  winning  of  a  rich  wife  or 
from  some  other  source. 

In  due  time  they  reached  the  town  of  Lich- 
field,  where  it  fell  to  the  lot  of  Aimwell  to  act  as 
master  and  of  Archer  as  servant.  Here  they 
stopped  at  an  inn  kept  by  one  Bonniface,  which 
Aimwell  entered  in  rich  attire  and  with  an  impor- 
tant manner,  while  Archer  followed  in  the  dress 
of  a  valet,  and  carrying  a  portmanteau. 

"  There,  set  down  the  things,"  ordered  Aim- 
well.  "  Go  to  the  stable  and  see  that  my  horses 
are  well  cared  for." 

"  I  shall,  sir,"  answered  Archer,  respectfully, 
leaving  the  room. 

After  he  had  gone,  Aimwell  entered  into  a  con- 
versation with  Bonniface,  in  which  he  led  him 
cunningly  from  praise  of  his  ale  to  information  con- 
cerning the  rich  families  of  the  vicinity.  In  this 
way  he  learned  that  the  most  important  of  the 
neighboring  people  of  estate  was  a  rich  old  widow 
named  Lady  Bountiful,  who  spent  half  her 
income  in  charity,  and  was  so  expert  in  medicine 
that  she  cured  more  people  within  ten  years  than 
the  doctors  killed  in  twenty. 


154  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

This  charitable  widow  had  two  children ;  a  son 
by  her  first  husband,  Squire  Sullen  ;  and  a  daugh- 
ter by  her  second  husband,  Sir  Charles  Bountiful. 
Young  Sullen,  who  had  recently  married  a  Lon- 
don lady  of  birth  and  beauty,  was  a  brutal  dunce, 
given  to  drink  and  tobacco,  and  shamefully  neg- 
lecting and  ill-treating  his  youthful  wife.  The 
daughter,  Dorinda,  was  still  unmarried ;  "  the 
finest  woman  and  the  greatest  fortune  in  the 
county,"  said  the  inn-keeper. 

This,  and  much  other  information,  was  given 
by  Bonniface  to  his  guest,  though  he  took  good 
care  not  to  tell  him  all  that  he  might  have  said, 
namely,  that  his  inn  was  a  haunt  of  highway- 
men, of  whom  he  and  his  daughter  Cherry  were 
accomplices. 

After  getting  rid  of  the  landlord,  Aimwell  and 
Archer  had  a  private  conversation,  in  which  they 
considered  their  means  and  plans.  They  had 
remaining  of  their  stock  in  trade  two  hundred 
pounds  in  money,  together  with  a  good  outfit  in 
horses,  clothes,  rings,  etc.  With  this  supply  they 
hoped  to  gain  ten  times  as  much.  They  decided 
that,  if  they  should  fail  at  Litchfield,  their  next 
stop  would  be  at  Nottingham,  where  Archer 
should  play  master  and  Aimwell  servant.  They 
would  reverse  again  at  Lincoln,  and  again  at 
Norwich.  '  If  by  that  time  Venus  or  Plutus  still 
failed  them,  they  decided  to  embark  for  Holland, 
and  try  their  fortune  with  Mars,  by  joining  the 
army  there. 


THE   BEAUX   STRATAGEM.  155 

Their  conference  ended,  Aimwell  gave  in  charge 
to  the  landlord  the  strong  box  containing  their 
money,  saying:  "Your  house  is  so  full  of 
strangers  that  I  believe  this  will  be  safer  in  your 
custody  than  in  mine ;  for  when  this  fellow  of 
mine  gets  drunk  he  minds  nothing.  The  box 
contains  a  little  over  two  hundred  pounds ;  if  you 
doubt  this,  I'll  count  it  to  you  after  supper.  Be 
sure  you  lay  it  where  I  may  have  it  at  a  minute's 
warning,  for  my  affairs  are  a  little  dubious  at 
present,  and  I  may  have  to  be  gone  in  half  an 
hour.  Order  your  hostler  to  keep  my  horses 
ready  saddled ;  and,  above  all,  keep  this  fellow 
from  drink,  for  he  is  the  most  insufferable  sot. 
Here,  sirrah,  light  me  to  my  chamber." 

After  the  two  had  gone,  Bonniface  called  his 
daughter  Cherry  and  gave  the  strong  box  into 
her  charge,  telling  her  of  his  guest's  orders  to 
keep  his  horses  ready  saddled,  since  he  might 
have  to  set  out  at  a  minute's  warning. 

"  Ten  to  one,  then,  he  is  a  highwayman !"  ex- 
claimed the  daughter. 

"  A  highwayman  ?  On  my  life,  girl,  you  have 
hit  it !  This  box  holds  his  last  booty.  If  we  can 
find  him  out,  the  money  is  ours." 

"  He  don't  belong  to  our  gang,"  said  Cherry. 

"  What  horses  have  they  ?" 

"  The  master  rides  a  black." 

"  A  black  ?  As  I  live,  it  is  the  '  man  upon  the 
black  mare !'  Since  he  don't  belong  to  our  fra- 
ternity, we  may  betray  him  with  a  safe  conscience. 


156  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

I  don't  think  it  lawful  to  harbor  any  rogues  but 
my  own.  But  we  must  have  proofs,  Cherry. 
The  servant  loves  drink,  and  may  love  women. 
I'll  ply  him  the  one  way,  and  you  may  the  other." 

The  latter  part  of  the  bargain  was  one  to  which 
Miss  Cherry  affected  to  be  by  no  means  inclined. 
Not  many  minutes  elapsed  before  the  counterfeit 
footman  met  her,  and,  attracted  by  her  bright 
eyes  and  pretty  face,  proceeded  to  make  love  to 
her  with  all  the  assurance  of  a  London  gallant. 
He  found  the  pretty  barmaid,  however,  far  from 
ready  to  listen  to  his  advances;  she  scornfully 
giving  him  to  understand  that  she  looked  higher 
than  to  a  footman,  and  disdainfully  bidding  him 
to  keep  to  his  own  sphere,  and  cease  to  annoy 
her  with  his  professions. 

Yet  the  pretty  Cherry  was  far  from  being  so 
disdainful  at  heart  as  she  was  in  words.  She 
suspected  Archer  of  being  more  than  he  seemed, 
and  her  susceptible  heart  was  touched  more 
deeply  by  the  ardor  of  his  love-making  than  she 
cared  to  admit. 

Night  had  fallen  while  these  events  were  in 
progress.  In  the  early  darkness  a  new  guest  rode 
up  to  the  inn,  but  by  the  rear  instead  of  the  front, 
and,  having  himself  stabled  his  horse,  cautiously 
entered.  He  was  a  dark-skinned,  black-whiskered 
man,  his  face  half  hidden  by  a  high  collar  and  a 
slouched  hat. 

"Landlord,"  he  called,  looking  around  him 
heedfully,  "is  the  coast  clear?" 


THE   BEAUX  STRATAGEM.  157 

"Is  it  you,  Mr.  Gibbet?"  asked  Bonniface. 
«  What's  the  news  ?" 

"Ask  no  questions.  Here,  my  dear  Cherry." 
He  gave  her  a  bag.  "Two  hundred  sterling 
pounds.  Lay  them  with  the  rest.  And  here  are 
some  other  trifles ;  a  diamond  necklace ;  a  gold 
watch ;  two  silver-hilted  swords :  I  took  them 
from  fellows  who  never  show  any  part  of  their 
sword  but  the  hilt." 

"Hark  ye,  where's  Hounslow  and  Bagshot?" 
asked  Bonniface. 

«  They'll  be  here  to-night." 

"  Do  you  know  of  any  other  gentlemen  of  the 
pad  on  this  road  ?" 

«  No." 

"I  fancy  that  I  have  two  that  lodge  in  the 
house  just  now." 

"  Aha !  what  marks  have  they  of  the  trade  ?" 

"  The  one  talks  of  going  to  church." 

"  That's  suspicious,  I  confess." 

"The  other  pretends  to  be  a  servant.  We'll 
call  him  out  and  pump  him." 

"With  all  my  heart,"  answered  Gibbet. 

Archer,  or  Martin,  as  he  had  called  himself, 
proved  rather  a  dry  well  to  the  pumping  of  these 
worthies.  He  came  forward  singing,  as  he  combed 
a  periwig;  and  he  answered  all  inconvenient 
questions  with  a  stave  of  song. 

"  Whose  servant  are  you,  friend  ?"  asked  Gibbet. 

"  My  master's." 

"  But  pray,  sir,  what  is  your  master's  name  ?" 
14 


158  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"Name,  sir? Tall-le-dall !  This  is  the  most 

obstinate  curl." 

"  Yes,  his  name." 

"  Tall-lal-lal ! — I  never  asked  him  his  name  in 
my  life." 

"  Pray,  then,  which  way  does  he  travel  ?" 

"  On  horseback." 

"  Upwards  or  downwards,  I  mean  ?" 

"  Downwards,  I  fear.  Tall-lal-le-dal,"  and  Mas- 
ter Martin  combed  on  with  provoking  ease. 

"What  think  you  now?"  asked  Bonniface, 
privately,  of  Gibbet. 

"  Old  offenders.  He  could  not  be  more  cautious 
before  a  judge." 

After  his  questioners  had  left  him,  Archer  stood 
laughing  to  himself  over  their  discomfiture,  but 
greatly  puzzled  to  know  their  purpose.  Bonni- 
face had  addressed  Gibbet  with  the  title  of  cap- 
tain, but  the  shrewd  Londoner  was  not  so  easily 
deceived. 

As  he  stood  lazily  combing  the  periwig  and 
deeply  cogitating,  Cherry  returned,  quite  ready 
in  her  heart  to  tell  him  the  secret  of  the  inn  if 
in  return  she  could  gain  his  love.  A  few  questions 
satisfied  her  that  he  did  not  suspect  the  profession 
of  the  mock  captain,  and  that  she  might  have 
the  merit  of  the  discovery  for  her  own.  A  lively 
chat  followed,  at  the  end  of  which  Cherry  laugh- 
ingly told  her  would-be  lover  that  he  might  as 
well  give  up  his  play  of  footman,  since  his  lan- 
guage and  dress  were  in  the  plainest  contradiction. 


THE   BEAUX   STKATAQEM.  159 

Thus  cornered,  the  cunning  fellow  confessed,  in 
part,  the  truth ;  admitting  that  he  had  been  born 
a  gentleman,  but  was  reduced  by  necessity  to  the 
position  of  servant. 

"  Take  my  hand,  then,"  said  Cherry.  "  Promise 
to  marry  me  before  you  sleep,  and  I'll  make  you 
master  of  two  thousand  pounds." 

"  How, — two  thousand  pounds  !  But  an  inn- 
keeper's daughter !  In  faith — I " 

"  Then  you  won't  marry  me  ?" 

« I  would,  but " 

"  Oh,  sweet  sir,  you're  fairly  caught,"  laughed 
Cherry.  "  Don't  tell  me  that  any  gentleman  who 
would  bear  the  scandal  of  wearing  a  livery  would 
refuse  two  thousand  pounds,  even  under  harder 
conditions  than  I  offer.  No,  no,  sir.  I  see  that 
your  play  of  servant  is  but  a  farce." 

"  Fairly  bit,  by  Jupiter !  But  have  you  actu- 
ally two  thousand  pounds  ?" 

"  I  have  my  secrets  as  well  as  you.  When  you 
are  more  open  I  shall  be  more  free.  Don't  fear 
that  I  will  do  anything  to  hurt  you, — but  beware 
of  my  father."  With  this  mysterious  warning  she 
left  the  room. 

"  So,"  said  Archer,  "  we  are  likely  to  have  as 
many  adventures  in  our  inn  as  Don  Quixote 
had  in  his.  Let  me  see, — two  thousand  pounds. 
If  she  would  only  promise  to  die  when  the  money 
was  spent.  But  an  inn-keeper's  daughter !  Ay, 
there's  the  rub ;  my  pride  won't  stomach  that." 

Leaving  him  to  decide  this  difficult  question,  we 


160  TALES   FKOM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

must  betake  ourselve  to  another  locality,  the  house 
of  Lady  Bountiful.  Here  we  find  Mrs.  Sullen 
pouring  into  the  ears  of  her  sister-in-law  Dorinda 
bitter  complaints  against  her  stupid  and  brutish 
husband.  She  would  apply  for  a  divorce,  she  de- 
clared, but  had  no  cause  of  complaint  that  would 
hold  good  in  a  court  of  law.  She  went  on  to  say 
that  if  she  had  him  in  London  she  might  provoke 
him  to  love  by  rousing  his  jealousy ;  but  in  the 
country,  even  this  resource  was  wanting. 

"I  fear,"  replied  Doriuda,  "that  there  is  a 
natural  aversion  on  his  side ;  and,  if  the  truth 
were  known,  you  don't  come  far  behind  him." 

"  I  own  it ;  we  are  united  contradictions,  fire  and 
water.  But  if  I  could  bring  the  man  even  to  dis- 
semble a  little  kindness,  I  should  be  more  content." 

"  Take  care,  sister.  In  seeking  to  rouse  him  to 
counterfeit  kindness,  you  might  awake  him  to  a 
real  fury." 

"  What  then  ?  Anything  would  be  better  than 
to  have  him  a  stupid  log,  as  he  is  now.  I  want 
your  aid,  sister.  The  French  count,  Bellair,  is  to 
dine  here  to-day.  I  have  devised  a  little  farce, 
which  I  hope  may  not  end  in  a  tragedy.  I  shall 
lead  the  count  on  to  make  love  to  me.  You  must 
post  my  husband  where  he  can  hear  it  all.  If  the 
man  has  a  grain  of  natural  feeling  in  him  this 
must  stir  him  up  to  something." 

"To  bloodletting,  maybe,"  answered  Dorinda. 
"  I  don't  like  your  plot, — nor  your  count  either, 
for  that  matter." 


THE    BEAUX   STRATAGEM.  161 

"  You  like  nothing,  girl,  in  the  form  of  a  man. 
Your  time  has  not  come  yet.  Love  and  death 
are  alike :  their  time  to  strike  home  is  sure  to 
arrive.  You'll  pay  for  all  this  one  day.  But 
come,  sister,  it  is  almost  time  for  church." 

Little  did  Dorinda  imagine  that  the  time  for 
love,  of  which  Mrs.  Sullen  had  spoken,  would 
come  that  very  day,  and  that  her  fate  awaited 
her  in  the  church  to  which  she  was  now  pre- 
paring to  go. 

For  Aimwell,  in  his  purpose  of  marrying  an 
heiress,  had  conceived  the  idea  that  a  country 
church  was  just  the  place  to  begin  his  campaign. 

"  The  appearance  of  a  stranger  in  a  country 
church  draws  as  many  gazers  as  a  blazing  star," 
he  said.  "  A  train  of  whispers  runs  buzzing 
round  the  congregation:  'Who  is  he?  Whence 
comes  he  ?  Do  you  know  him  ?'  Then  I  tip  the 
verger  half  a  crown.  He  leads  me  to  the  best 
pew  in  the  church.  I  pull  out  my  snuff-box, 
turn  myself  around,  bow  to  the  bishop  or  the 
dean,  single  out  a  beauty,  rivet  both  eyes  on  her, 
and  show  the  whole  church  my  concern  by  my 
endeavor  to  hide  it.  After  the  sermon,  the  whole 
town  gives  me  to  her  for  a  lover,  and  by  per- 
suading the  lady  that  I  am  dying  for  her,  the 
tables  are  turned,  and  she  in  good  earnest  falls  in 
love  with  me." 

"  Instead  of  riveting  your  eyes  on  a  beauty, 
try  to  fix  them  on  a  fortune.     That's  our  busi- 
ness at  present,"  warned  Archer. 
VOL.  I.— l  14* 


162  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"  Pshaw,  no  woman  can  be  a  beauty  without  a 
fortune.  Let  me  alone  to  aim  at  the  right  target." 

Aimwell  proved  correct  in  his  opinion  of  his 
own  judgment,  for  he  selected  an  heiress  in  the 
beauty  to  whom  he  devoted  his  attention  during 
that  day's  church  service.  Dorinda  Bountiful 
was  the  goal  of  his  earnest  and  languishing  looks ; 
and  as  for  her,  she  did  not  wait  for  the  town's 
opinion  to  form  her  own,  but  left  the  church  with 
a  palpitating  heart,  and  a  fancy  warmly  set  upon 
the  handsome  stranger  who  had  gazed  upon  her 
so  devotedly. 

Her  fate,  indeed,  had  come  to  her  at  last,  as 
she  admitted  to  Mrs.  Sullen,  after  the  latter  had 
shrewdly  questioned  her.  The  hitherto  cold- 
hearted  lady  had  fallen  deeply  and  desperately 
in  love,  and  was  but  fairly  home  from  church 
when  she  sent  Scrub,  .Mr.  Sullen's  servant,  to 
try  and  learn  who  the  gentleman  was.  Scrub 
returned  in  due  time,  with  a  reply  that  was  not 
very  satisfactory.  Nobody  knew  who  the  stranger 
was  or  where  he  came  from,  and  about  all  he  had 
been  able  to  learn  was,  that  the  footman  dressed 
almost  like  a  gentleman,  and  talked  French  glibly 
with  Count  Bellair's  servants. 

"  "VVe  have  a  great  mind  to  know  who  this 
gentleman  is, — only  for  our  satisfaction,"  said 
Dorinda.  "You  must  go,  Scrub,  and  invite  his 
footman  hither  to  drink  a  bottle  of  your  ale.  We 
will  drop  in  by  accident  and  ask  the  fellow  some 
questions." 


THE   BEAUX   STRATAGEM.  163 

"Well  devised,"  said  Mrs.  Sullen.  "Here  in 
the  country  any  stranger  is  company,  and  if  we 
cannot  learn  what  we  would  directly,  we  must 
indirectly.  Go,  Scrub,  do  as  you  are  told." 

Cupid,  in  the  present  instance,  had  done  his 
work  better  than  to  waste  his  only  arrow  upon 
the  lady.  He  had  reserved  one  for  the  gentle- 
man ;  and  though  Aimwell  was  too  old  a  lover  to 
be  wounded  at  first  sight  so  deeply  as  Dorinda, 
his  heart  had  not  escaped,  and  his  looks  at 
church  had  in  them  something  warmer  than  cold- 
blooded interest.  As  he  and  Archer  were  talk- 
ing over  the  matter,  a  message  came  from  Scrub 
to  the  latter,  desiring  that  his  honor  would  go 
home  with  him  and  taste  his  ale. 

"Aha!  my  turn  comes  now!"  cried  Archer, 
gayly.  "  You  say  there's  another  very  handsome 
lady  in  that  house  ?" 

"  Yes,  faith." 

"  Then  I'm  in  love  with  her  already." 

"  But  what  becomes  of  Cherry?" 

"  Cherry  must  wait  until  she  grows  riper." 

Archer  was  not  long  in  finding  his  way  to  the 
pantiy  of  Scrub  the  butler,  where  they  sampled 
the  Bountiful  ale  together  till  both  of  them  had 
rather  more  than  was  good  for  them.  The  shrewd 
Archer,  however,  was  not  so  tipsy  as  he  pretended 
to  be.  It  was  his  purpose  to  extract  from  Scrub 
all  the  secrets  of  the  family,  which  he  fairly  suc- 
ceeded in  doing,  so  far  as  the  loose-tongued  butler 
was  acquainted  with  them.  In  return,  he  gave 


164  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

Scrub  a  piece  of  news  of  his  own  invention,  viz. : 
that  his  master  was  really  the  Lord  Viscount  Aim- 
well,  who  had  recently  fought  a  duel  in  London 
and  dangerously  wounded  his  opponent ;  and  that 
he  was  here  now  in  hiding  till  he  should  learn 
whether  the  man  had  died  or  not. 

This  interesting  piece  of  invented  information 
was  not  long  in  reaching  the  ladies.  G-ipsey,  their 
maid,  had  listened  to  the  conversation  between 
the  butler  and  his  visitor ;  and  on  hearing  this 
imaginary  news,  she  made  all  haste  to  retail  it  to 
her  mistresses,  much  to  their  satisfaction. 

"I  have  heard  of  Lord  Aim  well,"  said  Mrs. 
Sullen;  "but  they  say  his  brother  is  the  finer 
gentleman." 

"  That  is  impossible,  sister,"  answered  Dorinda. 

"  At  any  rate,  they  say  he  is  very  rich  and  very 
close." 

"  No  matter  for  that,  if  I  can  creep  into  his 
heart  I'll  open  his  pocket,  I  warrant  him.  I  wish 
we  could  talk  with  this  fellow." 

"So  do  I.  Let  us  try  it;  I  see  no  harm  in 
it." 

There  was  more  harm  in  it  for  Mrs.  Sullen  than 
she  dreamed  of,  for  in  the  conversation  with  the 
two  servants  that  followed,  there  was  something 
in  Archer's  manner  and  style  of  talk  that  seemed 
to  her  above  his  station,  and  much  in  his  form 
and  face  that  touched  her  susceptible  heart.  This 
favorable  impression  was  added  to  by  a  song 
which  he  gave  them  at  Scrub's  suggestion  ;  and 


THE   BEAUX   STRATAGEM.  165 

it  reached  its  climax'  in  his  refusal  to  take  some 
money  which  she  offered  him. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  so  pretty  a  well-bred  fellow  ?" 
asked  Dorinda,  after  Archer  had  left  them.  "  I 
doubt  if  he  is  a  servant.  He  may  be  some 
gentleman,  my  lord's  friend,  perhaps  his  second, 
who  has  chosen  to  keep  him  company  in  this  dress 
to  complete  the  disguise." 

"It  is,  it  must  be,  and  it  shall  be  so  !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Sullen  ;  "  for  I  like  him." 

"  What !  better  than  the  count  ?" 

"  The  count  will  do  very  well  to  serve  me  in 
my  design  on  my  husband.  But  I  should  like 
this  fellow  better  in  a  design  on  myself." 

"  But  now,  sister,"  said  Doriuda,  "  for  an  inter- 
view with  this  lord  and  this  gentleman :  how  shall 
we  bring  it  about  ?" 

"Leave  that  to  them.  If  Lord  Aim  well  loves 
or  deserves  you,  he'll  find  a  way  to  see  you.  My 
business  comes  first  in  order.  Have  you  prepared 
your  brother  for  my  assault  upon  his  jealousy  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  the  count  is  at  hand.  Look  you  do 
it  neatly." 

The  project  referred  to  was  the  one  we  have 
already  mentioned,  by  which  Mrs.  Sullen  hoped 
to  rouse  the  jealous  anger  of  her  husband.  In 
pursuance  of  this  plot,  Dorinda  had  advised  her 
brother  to  pretend  that  he  would  be  out  late,  and 
then  to  slip  round  and  hide  himself  in  the  closet, 
where  he  would  hear  something  to  surprise 
him.  This  he  did,  and  was  but  fairly  in  the 


166  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

closet  when  Count  Bellair  appeared  in  the  room 
in  company  with  Mrs.  Sullen,  to  whom  he  pro- 
ceeded to  make  love  with  all  the  ardor  of  his 
French  descent. 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  husband,  who 
broke  from  his  closet  pretending  to  be  in  a  violent 
rage.  Yet  his  manner  showed  such  lack  of  real 
warmth  and  passion  that  it  was  evident  the  design 
had  failed.  The  man  was  too  dull  to  be  roused 
either  to  rage  or  jealousy ;  or  had  so  little  love 
for  his  wife  that  he  cared  not  who  might  replace 
him  in  her  affections. 

The  poor  woman  was  so  vexed  by  the  failure 
of  her  deep-laid  scheme  that  she  vented  some  of 
her  displeasure  on  her  unconscious  accomplice, 
telling  the  count  that  she  had  only  been  amusing 
herself  with  him,  and  that  she  herself  had  ar- 
ranged that  her  husband  should  be  in  the  closet. 

"And  so,  madam,"  exclaimed  the  enraged 
Frenchman,  "while  I  was  telling  you  twenty 
stories  to  part  you  from  your  husband,  begar, 
I  was  bringing  you  together  all  the  while." 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  count ;  but  I  hope  this  will 
give  you  a  taste  of  the  virtue  of  the  English  ladies." 

"  Begar,  madam,  their  virtue  may  be  vera  great ; 
but,  garzoon,  their  honesty  be  vera  little,"  and 
the  count  took  himself  away  in  a  rage. 

While  this  plot  of  the  ladies  was  in  process  of 
execution,  a  stratagem  was  being  devised  by  the 
gentlemen  that  was  likely  to  prove  more  success- 
ful. Mrs.  Sullen  had  advised  Dorinda  to  leave 


THE   BEAUX   STRATAGEM.  167 

Lord  Aimwell  alone ;  if  he  loved  her  he  would 
find  a  way  to  see  her.  She  was  right,  though  as 
yet  the  movements  of  the  adventurers  were  gov- 
erned more  by  interest  than  love.  At  a  late  hour 
of  that  day,  while  Lady  Bountiful  was  prescribing 
for  the  ailments  of  a  sick  countryman,  and  Mrs. 
Sullen  laughing  at  her  rustic  cure-all  remedies, 
Dorinda  rushed  up  to  them  in  a  state  of  high  ex- 
citement, closely  followed  by  Archer,  who  eagerly 
asked  for  Lady  Bountiful.  He  proceeded  to  beg 
for  the  goodness  and  skill  of  the  old  lady  in  favor 
of  his  poor  master,  who  he  feared  was  on  the  point 
of  death. 

"  Your  master !  where  is  he  ?" 

"  At  your  gate,  madam.  Drawn  by  the  appear- 
ance of  your  handsome  house,  he  walked  up  the 
avenue  to  view  it  nearer,  when  he  was  suddenly 
taken  ill  with  I  know  not  what.  Down  on  the 
cold  ground  he  fell,  and  there  he  lies." 

He  could  have  said  nothing  more  likely  to  rouse 
Lady  Bountiful' s  sympathy.  The  servants  were 
hastily  called,  and  the  whole  house  was  soon  fly- 
ing to  Aimwell's  assistance,  with  the  exception  of 
Dorinda,  who  was  kept  motionless  by  agitation, 
and  of  Mrs.  Sullen,  who  was  held  still  by  suspicion. 

"  Oh,  sister !"  exclaimed  Dorinda,  "  my  heart 
flutters  so  strangely !  I  can  hardly  forbear  run- 
ning to  his  assistance." 

"  I'll  lay  my  life  he  desires  your  assistance  more 
than  he  deserves  it,"  answered  Mrs.  Sullen.  "  Did 
not  I  tell  you  that  my  lord  would  find  a  way  to 


168  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

come  to  you  ?  Love  is  his  distemper,  and  you 
must  be  the  physician." 

Mrs.  Sullen  had  guessed  correctly ;  the  illness 
was  a  stratagem  to  obtain  admittance  to  the 
house ;  yet  Aimwell  played  his  part  of  sick  man 
very  neatly.  He  seemed  quite  insensible  as  they 
carried  him  in  a  chair  to  the  house,  his  eyes  being 
closed  and  his  hands  clinched.  But  when  Do- 
rinda,  at  Archer's  suggestion,  took  his  hand  and 
sought  to  open  it,  he  caught  her  hand  in  his  grasp 
and  squeezed  it  unmercifully ;  much  to  the  sur- 
prise of  Lady  Bountiful,  who  opened  the  other 
hand  with  ease. 

To  the  anxious  inquiries  of  the  benevolent  old 
lady,  Archer  replied  that  his  master  had  been  first 
taken  ill  that  morning  at  church,  where  something 
affected  him  through  the  eyes,  with  such  strange 
severity  that  he  had  not  yet  recovered  from  it. 
Whether  it  was  pain  or  pleasure  he  could  not  say. 

While  the  shrewd  fellow  was  describing  this 
affection  in  a  way  that  made  Dorinda's  heart  beat 
strangely,  Aimwell  seemed  to  recover.  Opening 
his  eyes,  he  gazed  about  him  in  amazement,  affect- 
ing to  believe  that  he  had  died  and  was  now  in 
Elysium.  He  kneeled  to  Dorinda  and  kissed  her 
hand,  addressing  her  as  Proserpine. 

"  Delirious,  poor  gentleman !"  exclaimed  Lady 
Bountiful. 

"  Yery  delirious,  madam,"  said  Archer. 

"Martin's  voice?  here?"  exclaimed  Aimwell, 
looking  round  with  a  show  of  surprise. 


THE   BEAUX   STRATAGEM.  169 

"Here  on  earth,  my  lord.  How  does  your 
lordship  ?" 

"Lord?  Do  you  hear  that,  girls?"  said  Lady 
Bountiful,  in  an  aside  to  her  daughters. 

"  Where  am  I  ?"  asked  Aimwell. 

"In  very  good  hands,  sir.  You  were  taken 
with  one  of  your  old  fits,  near  this  benevolent 
lady's  house,  and  she  has  miraculously  brought 
you  back  to  your  old  self,  sir." 

Aimwell  professed  to  be  greatly  ashamed  to 
have  given  them  such  trouble,  gave  Archer  two 
guineas  for  the  servants,  and  declared  that  he 
must  instantly  leave,  a  purpose  to  which  Lady 
Bountiful  would  not  listen.  The  cold  air,  she 
said,  would  surely  cause  a  relapse.  She  insisted 
on  his  drinking  a  glass  of  her  favorite  healing 
cordial,  and  then  advised  him  to  walk  about  and 
see  the  house,  which  the  young  ladies  would  take 
pleasure  in  showing.  He  would  see  some  tolerably 
good  pictures. 

"Ladies,  shall  I  beg  leave  for  my  servant  to 
wait  on  you  ?"  asked  Aimwell.  "  He  understands 
pictures  very  well." 

"  We  understand  originals  as  well  as  he  does 
pictures,"  answered  Mrs.  Sullen ;  "  so  he  may  come 
along." 

This  walk  through  the  house,  which  the  con- 
federates had  so  cunningly  led  up  to,  completed 
the  conquest.  Leaving  Mrs.  Sullen  to  the  care 
of  Archer,  Aimwell  wandered  off  alone  with 
Dorinda,  and  made  love  to  her  with  a  warmth 
H  15 


170  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

that  was  far  from  counterfeit,  and  which  quite 
placed  her  heart  in  his  keeping. 

Meanwhile  Archer  was  assailing  the  heart  of 
Mrs.  Sullen  with  little  less  ardor,  and  quite  as 
much  success.  The  poor  woman  bewailed  to 
herself  her  sad  lot,  in  being  tied  to  a  brute  when 
she  might  have  won  the  love  of  a  man  like  this, 
and  burst  into  tears  afterwards  when  Dorinda 
warmly  confessed  her  happiness  in  Aimwell's 
love. 

"  Your  angel  has  been  watchful  for  your  happi- 
ness," sobbed  the  poor  wife,  "  while  mine  has  slept 
regardless  of  his  charge.  Long  smiling  years  of 
joy  for  you,  but  not  one  hour  for  me." 

"  Come,  my  dear,  let  us  talk  of  something  else." 

"  I  can  think  of  nothing  else,"  said  Mrs.  Sullen, 
her  eyes  still  wet.  "To  be  tied  for  life  to  a  dull 
brute  like  that !  But  I  expect  my  brother  here 
to-night  or  to-morrow.  He  was  abroad  when  my 
father  married  me  to  this  log.  Perhaps  he  may 
find  a  way  to  rid  me  of  my  burden." 

"  I  hope  to  heaven  he  may,"  answered  Dorinda. 

This  hope  was  nearer  realization  than  the 
speaker  had  any  idea  of.  Eventful  as  that  day 
had  been,  the  night  was  destined  to  be  as  fruitful 
of  events.  In  the  first  place,  Bonniface,  the 
scoundrelly  inn-keeper,  had  arranged  with  Gibbet 
and  his  companions  to  rob  Lady  Bountiful's 
house,  and  they  awaited  the  midnight  hour  to 
put  their  scheme  in  execution.  In  the  second 
place,  Count  Bellair,  still  angry  at  Mrs.  Sullen  for 


THE   BEAUX   STRATAGEM.  171 

the  trick  she  had  played  on  him,  determined  to 
have  an  opportunity  at  love-making  in  the 
absence  of  her  husband,  and  bribed  her  maid 
Gipsey  to  aid  him  in  playing  the  part  which 
Sullen  had  played, — that  of  being  concealed  in  a 
closet.  This  scheme,  however,  came  to  the  knowl- 
edge of  Archer,  and  he  contrived  to  get  intro- 
duced into  the  house  in  place  of  the  count,  with 
the  double  purpose  of  discomfiting  the  French- 
man, and  gaining  another  opportunity  to  make 
love  to  the  lady,  who  had  made  almost  as  deep 
an  impression  upon  his  heart  as  Dorinda  had  upon 
that  of  his  companion. 

Nor  was  this  the  whole  of  the  complication. 
Sir  Charles  Freeman,  the  brother  whom  Mrs. 
Sullen  expected,  made  his  appearance  at  a  late 
hour  of  the  evening,  in  a  coach  and  six,  at  Bonni- 
face's  inn.  Here  he  asked  questions  about  Mr. 
Sullen's  family,  and  found  that  the  young  squire 
himself  was  then  at  the  inn,  engaged  in  deep 
potations  with  a  constable,  a  barber,  and  various 
other  of  the  same  sort  of  boon  companions. 

"I  find  my  sister's  letters  gave  me  the  true 
picture  of  her  spouse,"  said  Sir  Charles,  in  dis- 
gust, after  having  requested  an  interview  with 
the  squire. 

As  he  stood  there  Sullen  entered,  and  a  conver- 
sation ensued,  in  which  the  sot  declared  without 
hesitation  his  dislike  for  his  wife. 

"  Why  don't  you  part  with  her,  then  ?"  asked 
Sir  Charles. 


172  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"  Will  you  take  her  off  my  hands  ?" 

"With  all  my  heart." 

"Then  you  shall  have  her  to-morrow,  and  a 
venison  pasty  into  the  bargain,"  declared  Sullen. 

"  You'll  let  me  have  her  fortune,  too  ?" 

"  Fortune !  Why,  sir,  I  have  no  quarrel  with 
her  fortune.  I  only  hate  the  woman,  and  none 
but  the  woman  shall  go." 

While  this  conference  was  being  held  in  the 
tap-room,  one  of  a  different  character  was  taking 
place  in  another  part  of  the  house.  Cherry 
knocked  at  Aimwell's  door,  and  when  he  appeared, 
told  him,  in  an  agitated  manner,  of  the  projected 
burglary,  saying  that  the  gang  of  rogues  had  set 
out  to  rob  Lady  Bountiful's  house. 

She  had  sought  his  servant  Martin  to  tell  him, 
but  could  not  find  him  anywhere  about  the  inn. 

"  No  matter  about  him,  child.  Will  you  guide 
me  to  this  lady's  house  ?" 

"  With  all  my  heart,  sir.  My  Lady  Bountiful 
is  my  godmother,  and  1  love  Miss  Dorinda  so 
well " 

"Dorinda!  The  name  inspires  me,  the  glory 
and  danger  shall  all  be  my  own.  Come,  let  me 
but  get  my  sword  ;  then  lead  on." 

The  alarm  was  given  none  too  soon.  The  burg- 
lars were  in  the  house  before  Aimwell  got  there. 
Bonniface  had  assured  them  that  they  would  find 
none  but  women  in  the  place,  with  the  exception 
of  Scrub,  who  was  an  arrant  coward,  and  that 
the  plate  and  money  to  be  found  would  make 


THE   BEAUX   STRATAGEM.  173 

them  all  rich.  In  this  he  calculated  in  ignorance 
of  the  fact.  Archer,  unknown  to  the  villanous 
landlord,  was  concealed  in  the  house,  in  the  closet 
which  the  Frenchman  had  intended  to  occupy, 
and  was  brought  in  haste  from  his  place  of  con- 
cealment by  Scrub,  who  rushed  into  the  room 
with  a  frightened  ejaculation  of  "Thieves! 
murder!  robbery!" 

"  What  ails  you,  fool  ?"  exclaimed  Archer, 
shaking  him  violently. 

"  Oh,  pray,  sir,  spare  all  I  have,  and  take  my 
life !"  cried  Scrub,  kneeling. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  What  does  the  fellow 
mean  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Sullen,  who  was  in  the  room 
on  Scrub's  entrance. 

"Thieves  have  broken  into  the  house!"  ex- 
claimed the  scared  butler.  "  This  is  one  of  them ! 
We  shall  be  all  robbed  and  murdered !" 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  idiot !"  cried  Archer,  sternly. 
"  Don't  you  know  me  ?  Ha  !  I  see  a  dark  lantern 
in  the  gallery !  Can  you  face  the  fellow,  madam  ? 
Scrub  and  I  will  hide,  and  leap  upon  him  un- 
awares." 

"  Yes.     Hide  quickly." 

Hardly  had  the  two  men  disappeared  when 
Gibbet,  the  highwayman,  entered  the  room,  pistol 
and  dark  lantern  in  hand,  and  threatened  to  shoot 
the  lady  through  the  head  if  she  should  make  a 
noise.  Laying  his  lantern  and  pistol  on  the  table, 
he  proceeded  to  despoil  her  of  her  rings  and  neck- 
lace, and  then  demanded  her  keys. 
15* 


174  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

While  he  was  thus  employed,  Archer  slipped 
forward,  seized  the  pistol,  and  then,  catching  the 
villain  by  the  collar,  tripped  up  his  heels  and  laid 
him  flat  on  his  back.  He  held  the  pistol  to  his 
breast. 

"  Don't  kill  me,  sir,"  prayed  Gibbet,  frightened 
by  Archer's  stern  looks. 

"  How  many  are  there  of  them,  Scrub  ?" 

"  Five  and  forty,  sir." 

"  Then  I  must  kill  this  one,  to  have  him  out  of 
the  way." 

"  Hold,  sir ;  on  my  honor  there  are  but  three  of 
us,"  protested  Gibbet. 

"  Come,  rogue,  if  you  have  a  short  prayer,  say 
it." 

"  Pray,  sir,  don't  kill  him !"  pleaded  Mrs.  Sullen. 
"  You  scare  me  as  much  as  him." 

Scrub,  who  had  run  hastily  out,  at  this  moment 
returned  with  Foigard,  an  Irish  priest,  who  was 
connected  with  Count  Bellair,  and  who  happened 
to  be  in  the  house. 

"  Here,  then ;  I  suppose  Scrub  and  Dr.  Foigard 
can  manage  this  one.  Take  him  into  the  cellar 
and  bind  him.  Here  is  the  pistol ;  if  he  offers  to 
resist  shoot  him  through  the  head,  and  come  back 
to  me  as  soon  as  you  can." 

They  did  as  ordered,  and  Archer  was  about  to 
speak  to  Mrs.  Sullen,  when  loud  shrieks  came 
from  the  other  part  of  the  house. 

"Ha!"  he  cried,  "the  rogues  are  at  work  with 
the  other  ladies.  I'm  vexed  I  parted  with  the 


THE   BEAUX   STRATAGEM.  175 

pistol.  But  I  must  fly  to  their  aid.  Will  you 
stay  here,  madam  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  dear  sir,"  she  cried,  seizing  his  arm 
nervously.  "  I  will  not  let  you  leave  me." 

On  reaching  the  other  part  of  the  house,  they 
beheld  the  remaining  two  rogues,  with  drawn 
swords,  dragging  Lady  Bountiful  and  Dorindafrom 
their  rooms,  and  loudly  demanding  their  keys  and 
jewels.  Before  Archer  could  reach  the  spot, 
however,  Aimwell  made  his  appearance,  sword  in 
hand,  and  fiercely  engaged  the  scoundels,  who  re- 
leased the  ladies  and  turned  upon  him. 

"  Oh,  had  I  but  a  sword  to  help  this  brave  man  t" 
exclaimed  Dorinda. 

"  I  have  one,  madam,"  said  Archer.  "  Hold,  my 
lord;  every  man  his  bird."  And  he  rushed  to 
Aimwell's  aid. 

The  two  friends  fought  with  such  skill  and 
resolution  that  in  a  very  few  minutes  the  rogues 
were  disarmed  and  hurled  to  the  floor. 

"  Shall  we  kill  them  ?"  asked  Archer. 

"  No ;  we'll  bind  them,"  said  Aimwell. 

This  was  soon  done,  with  a  rope  which  the  vil- 
lains had  themselves  brought.  By  the  time  they 
were  secured,  Scrub  reappeared,  with  a  great  show 
of  resolution. 

"  Well,  Scrub,  have  you  secured  your  Tartar  ?" 
asked  Archer. 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  I  left  the  priest  and  him  disput- 
ing about  religion." 

"Then  carry  off  these  gentlemen  to  reap  the 


176  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

benefit  of  the  controversy,"  said  Aimwell,  deliv- 
ering his  prisoners  to  the  butler. 

"  Now  is  your  time,"  said  Archer  to  Aimwell. 
while  the  ladies  were  talking  aside.  "  Press  her 
this  minute  to  marry  you,  while  she  continues  to 
worship  you  as  a  hero,  and  the  tide  of  her  admira- 
tion is  at  high  flood.  The  priest  is  in  the  cellar, 
and  will  not  refuse." 

"How  shall  I  get  her  away  without  being 
observed?  Ha!  you  bleed,  Archer!  You  are 
hurt !" 

"A  scratch.  I  am  glad  of  it;  it  will  do  the 
business.  Can  you  find  me  a  bandage,  Lady 
Bountiful  ?  I  am  wounded." 

A  chorus  of  pitying  exclamations  followed  this 
statement,  and  while  the  old  lady  ran  for  lint  and 
ointments,  Mrs.  Sullen  hovered  anxiously  about 
him  whom  her  heart  admitted  as  a  lover.  Aim- 
well  took  ready  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to 
lead  Dorinda  away,  making  ardent  love  to  her  as 
he  went.  It  needed,  indeed,  few  words,  while  her 
heart  pleaded  so  strongly  in  his  favor,  to  induce 
Dorinda  to  consent  to  an  immediate  marriage 
with  her  heroic  preserver,  as  she  deemed  him. 
But  before  yielding  a  full  consent  she  bade  him 
consider:  he  knew  her  not;  she  scarcely  knew 
herself;  there  might  be  much  concealed  in  her 
which  he  should  learn. 

This  honest  avowal  had  an  effect  different  from 
that  which  the  lady  expected.  It  touched  Aim- 
well's  heart,  and  roused  his  conscience.  In  a 


THE   BEATTX   STRATAGEM.  177 

moment  of  remorse  he  acknowledged  that  he,  not 
she,  was  the  counterfeit,  that  he  had  deceived  her, 
and  was  but  the  penniless  brother  of  the  noble- 
man whose  title  he  had  claimed.  Yet,  if  he  ex- 
pected that  this  avowal  would  destroy  his  hopes, 
he  knew  not  love.  Dorinda  broke  out  in  a  pane- 
gyric on  his  honesty,  and  continued : 

"  I  was  proud,  I  admit,  of  your  wealth  and  title, 
but  now  am  prouder  that  you  lack  them,  since 
they  leave  you  such  nobility  of  soul.  Now  I  can 
show  that  my  love  was  not  based  on  pride,  but  is 
the  sterling  coinage  of  the  heart." 

Before  more  words  could  be  said,  Gipsey  en- 
tered, and  drawing  the  lady  aside,  wispered  earn- 
estly with  her  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  Ah !  is  it  so  ?"  she  said.  <:  Pray  excuse  me, 
Mr.  Aimwell.  I  shall  return  in  a  short  time." 
And  she  walked  from  the  room,  without  a  glance 
at  the  lover  whom  she  left  in  such  cruel  perplexity. 

As  she  went  out  at  one  door,  Archer  entered  at 
the  other,  eager  to  learn  if  the  marriage  ceremony 
had  been  performed.  On  learning  that  his  plan 
had  failed  through  the  inconvenient  honesty  of 
his  confederate,  he  grew  angry,  and  declared  that 
their  compact  was  at  an  end. 

"  It  was  your  scheme,  Mr.  Aimwell ;  and  you 
have  ruined  it.  Henceforth  I'll  seek  my  fortune 
by  myself.  I'd  sooner  change  places  with  one  of 
the  rogues  we  have  bound  than  stay  here  to  bear 
the  scornful  smiles  of  the  proud  knight  whom  I 
once  held  as  my  equal." 
VOL.  I. — m 


178  TALES   FROM  THE  DRAMATISTS. 

"  Knight !     "What  knight  ?" 

"  Sir  Charles  Freeman,  brother  to  Mrs.  Sullen. 
He  has  just  arrived.  It  is  a  cursed  night's  work, 
and  I  leave  you  to  make  the  best  of  it." 

Archer's  angry  withdrawal  was  prevented  by 
the  hasty  entrance  of  Dorinda,  who  came  forward 
with  a  face  covered  with  smiles. 

"  Come,  my  dear  lord,"  she  cried.  "  I  fly  with 
impatience  to  your  arms.  Bring  the  priest  you 
spoke  of.  I  am  yours." 

"  My  lord  !  No,  no,  Dorinda,  call  me  not  that. 
I'll  marry  you  gladly,  but  not  as  a  counterfeit." 

"  You  shall  not,  indeed,  but  as  the  true  Lord 
Aimwell ;  and  not  in  this  clandestine  manner,  but 
in  the  face  of  the  whole  world." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  demanded  Aimwell,  in 
great  perplexity. 

"  Here  is  my  witness  that  I  speak  but  the  truth." 

As  she  spoke  Sir  Charles  Freeman  and  Mrs. 
Sullen  entered. 

"  My  dear  Lord  Aimwell,  I  wish  you  joy,"  was 
Sir  Charles's  greeting. 

"Of  what?" 

"  Of  your  honor  and  estate.  Your  brother  died 
the  day  before  I  left  London.  All  your  friends 
have  written  to  you  to  Brussels  ;  but  I  am  happy 
to  be  the  first  to  bring  you  the  news." 

"  By  Jupiter !"  cried  Archer,  "  here  is  a  strange 
turn  in  the  wheel  of  fortune.  My  lord,  by  our 
bargain,  you  owe  me  five  thousand  pounds,  which 
is  half  this  lady's  fortune." 


THE  BEAUX  STRATAGEM.  179 

"  "We'll  divide  stakes,"  answered  Aimwell. 
"  You  may  take  the  whole  fortune,  or  the  lady,  as 
you  will." 

"  How,  my  lord !"  exclaimed  Dorinda,  startled. 
"  Do  I  hear  aright  ?" 

"  Trust  him,  madam,"  answered  Archer ;  "  he 
knows  very  well  that  I'll  take  the  money.  Give 
you  up !  He'd  sooner  yield  his  new-born  title." 

This  happy  turn  in  the  tide  of  events  nearly 
brings  our  story  to  a  close.  Yet  there  remain 
some  circumstances  of  importance  to  our  other 
characters  to  relate.  As  they  stood  conversing, 
a  countryman  entered  with  a  box  and  a  letter,  in- 
quiring for  "  one  Martin."  The  box  proved  to  be 
that  which  the  two  friends  had  left  in  the  land- 
lord's hands,  and  the  letter  was  one  from  Cherry 
to  Archer,  stating  that  her  father  had  fled,  from 
fear  of  being  informed  on  by  the  captive  thieves. 
She  had  remained  behind,  and  was  ready  to 
deliver  herself  into  the  hands  of  her  dear  Martin, 
with  a  much  larger  sum  than  was  in  his  strong 
box. 

"  There's  a  billet-doux  for  you !"  exclaimed 
Archer.  "  Come,  Aimwell,  you  must  persuade 
your  bride  to  take  Cherry  into  her  service." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so,"  said  Dorinda. 

"And  now,  friends  all,"  said  Sir  Charles,  "I 
have  a  design  in  view  in  which  I  beg  your  assist- 
ance ;  no  less  a  one  than  that  of  separating  my 
unfortunate  sister  from  her  worthless  husband." 

"  Assist   you  !"  exclaimed   Archer.      "  Shall   I 


180  TALES   FROM  THE   DRAMATISTS. 

run  the  fellow  through  ?  Or  can  you  suggest  any 
more  peaceable  means  ?" 

"  The  law's  blunt  end  may  work  better  than 
the  sword's  sharp  point,"  smiled  Sir  Charles.  "  A 
divorce  will  serve  as  well  as  a  duel.  I  have  had 
a  talk  with  Sullen,  and  he  is  quite  ready  to  give 
her  up." 

The  event  proved  as  he  had  stated.  Sullen  had 
a  native  contempt  for  a  respectable  woman,  which 
had  grown  into  a  dull  hatred  of  his  wife,  and 
consented  freely  to  a  divorce,  while,  as  for  the 
lady's  fortune,  Sir  Charles  succeeded  in  making 
him  disgorge  that  also. 

Thus  ended  that  eventful  night.  What  followed 
might  be  left  to  the  reader's  imagination,  but  a 
few  words  will  tell  it.  The  new  Lord  Aimwell 
had  grown  to  love  Dorinda  as  deeply  as  she  loved 
him,  and  their  marriage  took  place  before  many 
days,  with  great  state  and  ceremony.  And  not 
long  afterwards,  the  separation  of  Mrs.  Sullen 
from  her  husband  being  completed  by  due  course 
of  law,  Archer  led  that  happy  lady  to  the  altar, 
and  the  stratagem  of  the  pair  of  adventurous 
beaux  ended  in  joy  for  all  concerned. 


THE  BELLE'S  STRATAGEM, 

BY  HANNAH  COWLEY. 


["  THE  Beaux  Stratagem"  may  be  fitly  followed 
by  "  The  Belle's  Stratagem"  of  Mrs.  Cowley,  a 
work  which,  while  of  a  lower  literary  standard, 
has  much  dramatic  merit,  and  proved  highly  suc- 
cessful as  a  play.  The  authoress,  whose  maiden 
name  was  Parkhouse,  was  born  at  Tiverton,  Eng- 
land, in  1743,  was  married  to  Captain  Cowley,  an 
officer  of  the  East  India  Company,  and  died  in 
1809.  She  wrote  a  considerable  number  of  plays, 
but  is  known  to-day  principally  by  the  lively 
comedy  above  named.] 

Mr.  Doricourt,  senior,  had  left  a  large  estate 
to  be  disposed  of  in  a  singular  manner.  It  had 
been  arranged,  between  him  and  his  friend  Mr. 
Hardy,  that  a  marriage  should  take  place  between 
the  son  of  the  former  and  the  daughter  of  the 
latter  when  they  came  of  age.  So  earnest  were 
the  two  fathers  in  this  matter  that,  lest  the  young 
people  should  have  other  views  about  matrimony 
when  they  grew  up,  the  will  declared  that  if  the 
gentleman  declined  the  marriage,  the  estate  (of 
16  181 


182  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

more  than  eighty  thousand  pounds)  should  go  to 
the  lady,  while  if  she  should  decline,  it  would  be 
inherited  by  the  gentleman. 

From  their  infancy,  young  Master  Doricourt 
and  young  Miss  Hardy  had  been  considered  as 
made  for  each  other,  and  their  infantile  intimacy 
early  ripened  into  a  boy  and  a  girl  affection.  But 
at  an  early  age  the  youthful  lover  was  sent  to  the 
continent,  where  he  remained  for  years.  In  his 
occasional  visits  to  England  he  failed  to  see  his 
betrothed,  Mr.  Hardy  having  the  fancy  that  it 
would  be  best  to  keep  them  asunder,  and  leave  it 
to  his  daughter's  charms  to  win  the  heart  of  her 
predestined  lover  when  they  became  of  marriage- 
able age. 

This  plan  had  its  defects.  The  young  man,  in 
his  long  life  abroad,  grew  so  infatuated  with  the 
easy  manner  and  witty  liveliness  of  the  ladies  of 
France  and  Italy  as  to  unfit  him  for  the  modest 
reticence  of  the  young  ladies  of  his  native  land ; 
while  his  long  absence  from  Miss  Hardy  weaned 
all  his  early  affection  for  her  from  his  heart.  She, 
on  the  contrary,  having  lived  a  retired  life,  had 
cherished  the  memory  of  her  boy  lover,  and 
looked  forward  to  his  return  with  warm  expecta- 
tion, mingled  with  nervous  dread  that  was  likely 
to  unfit  her  for  making  a  favorable  first  im- 
pression on  the  sophisticated  young  gentleman 
from  abroad. 

When  young  Doricourt  made  his  appearance, 
indeed,  fresh   from  Eome,  the   elegance   of   his 


THE  BELLE'S  STRATAGEM.  183 

manner  and  appointments  produced  a  sensation 
in  London.  As  his  friend  Courtall  said :  "  His 
carriage,  his  liveries,  his  dress,  himself,  are  the 
rage  of  the  day ;  and  his  valet  is  besieged  by 
levees  of  tailors,  habit-makers,  and  other  minis- 
ters of  fashion,  to  gratify  the  impatience  of  their 
customers  for  becoming  a-la-mode  de  Doricourt." 

This  fine  gentleman  had  not  forgotten  the  im- 
portant business  that  brought  him  to  England. 
If  the  charms  of  Miss  Hardy  had  left  no  im- 
pression upon  his  soul,  those  of  the  eighty  thou- 
sand pounds  had  grown  very  alluring  to  his  mind. 
His  heart  was  still  free  from  the  chains  of  love, 
and  it  was  with  mingled  hope  and  fear  that  he 
awaited  an  interview  with  his  betrothed :  hope 
that  he  would  find  something  in  her  to  touch  his 
exacting  heart;  fear  that  he  would  not.  The 
results  of  this  interview  may  be  given  in  a  brief 
conversation  with  his  friend  Saville  : 

"  When  do  you  expect  Miss  Hardy  ?"  asked 
Saville. 

"  The  hour  of  expectation  is  past,"  Doricourt 
replied.  "  I  had  the  honor  of  an  interview  this 
morning  at  Plead  well's ;  where  we  met  at  Mr. 
Hardy's  request,  to  sign  and  seal  the  necessary 
papers." 

"  Well,  did  your  heart  leap,  or  sink,  when  you 
beheld  your  betrothed  ?" 

"  Faith,  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  She's  a 
fine  girl,  so  far  as  flesh  and  blood  goes ;  but " 

"  But  what  ?" 


184  TALES   FROM  THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"  Why,  she's  only  a  fine  girl ;  complexion,  shape, 
and  features ;  nothing  more." 

"  Is  not  that  enough  ?" 

"  No ;  she  should  have  spirit,  fire,  that  some- 
thing or  nothing  which  everybody  feels,  and 
nobody  can  describe,  in  the  resistless  charmers  of 
Italy  and  France.  Why,  man,  I  was  in  the  room 
half  an  hour  before  I  could  catch  the  color  of 
her  eyes;  and  every  attempt  to  draw  her  into 
conversation  occasioned  so  cruel  an  embarrass- 
ment that  I  was  reduced  to  the  retailing  of 
foreign  news  to  her  father." 

"So,  then,  Miss  Hardy,  with  only  beauty, 
modesty,  and  merit,  is  doomed  to  the  arms  of  a 
husband  who  will  despise  her." 

"Not  so,  Saville.  She  has  not  inspired  me 
with  a  violent  passion,  I  must  say ;  but  I  have 
honor,  if  I  have  not  love." 

"  Honor  without  love  is  a  poor  capital  to  marry 
upon,  Doricourt." 

The  unfavorable  impression  which  Letitia 
Hardy  had  made  upon  her  destined  husband  was 
not  paralleled  in  her  case.  His  charms  of  person 
and  manner  had  produced  a  very  different  effect 
upon  her  ardent  fancy.  The  gh*l  love  with  which 
she  had  parted  with  him,  years  before,  grew  into 
a  woman's  love  when  she  saw  in  him  all  and  more 
than  her  dreams  had  painted ;  his  face  the  same, 
yet  its  every  grace  finished  and  its  every  beauty 
heightened.  It  was  this  sentiment,  suddenly 
chilled  by  the  cold  indifference  of  his  expression, 


THE  BELLE'S  STRATAGEM.  185 

which  had  caused  the  retiring  bashfulness  and 
painful  embarrassment  to  which  he  owed  his  dis- 
enchantment. 

All  this  she  told  to  her  friend,  Mrs.  Eackett,  on 
her  return  home,  blaming  herself  bitterly  for  her 
ill  looks  and  awkward  bearing,  and  him  for  his 
lack  of  feeling  and  sentiment. 

"  How  mortifying !"  she  exclaimed,  "  to  find 
myself  at  the  same  moment  his  slave  and  an 
object  of  perfect  indifference  to  him." 

"  Are  you  certain  of  that  ?  Did  you  expect  him 
to  kneel  down  before  the  lawyer,  his  clerks,  and 
your  father,  to  make  oath  of  his  admiration  of 
your  beauty  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Eackett. 

"No,  but  he  should  have  looked  as  if  a  sud- 
den ray  had  pierced  him ;  he  should  have  been 
breathless,  speechless, — for  oh,  Caroline,  all  this 
was  I !" 

''The  more  fool  you.  Do  you  expect  a  man 
who  has  been  courted  by  half  the  fine  women  in 
Europe  to  feel  like  a  girl  from  a  boarding-school  ? 
He  is  your  one  pretty-faced  gentleman ;  but  he 
has  run  the  gantlet  of  a  million  of  pretty  women, 
child,  before  he  saw  you.  Such  a  prize  is  not  to 
be  won  at  sight." 

"  I  will  touch  his  heart  or  never  be  his  wife  !" 
exclaimed  Letitia,  warmly. 

They  were   interrupted  at  this  point  by  the 

entrance  of  Mr.  Hardy,  who  was  in  high  good 

humor.     He  felt  sure  that  Doricourt  had  fallen 

desperately  in  love  with  his  daughter,  and  could 

16* 


186  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

not  understand  her  depression,  unless  she  had 
,  taken  a  dislike  to  her  betrothed. 

"There's  a  man  for  youl"  cried  Mrs.  Eackett, 
impatiently.  "  Can't  you  see  that  she's  over  head 
and  ears  in  love  with  him  ?  And " 

"  And  he  cares  no  more  for  me  than  for  this  glove 
on  my  hand,"  exclaimed  Letitia.  "  But  he  shall ! 
if  there  is  spirit  and  invention  in  woman,  he 
shall." 

"Hey  day!  what's  in  the  wind  now?" 

"A  plan  has  struck  me,"  she  replied,  "which, 
if  you  will  not  oppose  it,  flatters  me  with  hopes  of 
brilliant  success." 

"  Oppose  it  ?     Not  I,  indeed !     What  is  it  ?" 

"  Since  he  does  not  like  me  enough,  he  shall  like 
me  less.  At  our  next  interview  I  shall  manage  to 
turn  his  indifference  into  positive  dislike." 

"Heaven  and  earth,  Letitia,  are  you  serious?" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Eackett.  "  Why  seek  to  make 
him  dislike  you  ?" 

"  Because  it  is  much  easier  to  convert  a  senti- 
ment into  its  opposite  than  to  transform  indiffer- 
ence into  tender  passion." 

"That  may  be  good  philosophy;  but  I  am 
afraid  you  will  find  it  dangerous  practice." 

"  I  have  the  strongest  confidence  in  it,"  said 
Letitia.  "Where  looks  have  lost  their  power, 
we  will  see  what  artifice  will  do.  I  am  in  high 
spirits  at  the  thought,  and  will  stake  my  hopes  of 
happiness  upon  my  stratagem." 

With  these  words  she  went  dancing  and  singing 


THE  BELLE'S  STRATAGEM.  187 

from  the  room,  leaving  her  father  and  friend 
ignorant  of  the  plot  which  she  had  devised,  but 
infected  with  hope  by  her  confidence. 

Before  proceeding  to  describe  Miss  Hardy's 
plan  and  how  it  worked,  we  must  give  some  atten- 
tion to  a  number  of  other  persons  who  will  take 
part  in  our  story,  and  particularly  to  a  newly- 
married  couple,  Sir  George  Touchwood  and  his 
wife,  Lady  Frances,  who  had  just  come  up  to 
town.  Sir  George  in  his  bachelor  days  had  led 
a  somewhat  wild  life,  in  London  and  Paris,  but 
since  marrying  a  country  beauty  had  grown  so 
absurdly  jealous  that  he  was  ridiculed  by  all  his 
old  friends.  He  had  kept  her  in  the  country  as 
long  as  he  could,  and,  in  bringing  her  up  to  Lon- 
don, did  so  with  many  fears  of  the  influence  which 
the  fashion  and  folly  of  the  metropolis  might 
have  on  her  susceptible  and  unsophisticated  fancy. 

His  dread  was  not  without  reason.  His  wife's 
heart  had  been  kept  like  virgin  wax,  and  was 
ready  to  be  impressed  by  good  or  bad  influences. 
Among  his  earliest  visitors  on  reaching  town  was 
Doricourt,  who  had  heard  of  his  extreme  jealousy, 
and  took  a  wicked  delight  in  tormenting  him. 
He  begged  to  be  introduced  to  his  wife,  whose 
beauty  and  goodness  Sir  George  praised  beyond 
measure. 

<l  Introduce  ! — yes,  to  be  sure !  Lady  Frances 
is  engaged  just  now, — but  another  time,"  stam- 
mered the  jealous  husband.  "  How  handsome  the 
dog  looks  to-day !"  he  said,  nervously,  to  himself. 


188  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

"  Another  time !  I  have  no  other  time.  This 
is  the  only  hour  I  can  command  this  fortnight." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,  with  all  my  soul,"  said 
Sir  George,  to  himself.  "  So,  then,  you  can't  dine 
with  us  to-day !  that's  very  unlucky,"  he  continued. 

"  Oh,  yes, — as  to  dinner, — I  can  stretch  my  time 
that  far." 

"Pshaw!  I  didn't  think  what  I  was  saying; 
I  meant  supper.  You  can't  sup  with  us  ?" 

"  Why,  that  will  be  more  convenient  than  din- 
ner !  How  fortunate !  if  you  had  asked  me  any 
other  night  I  could  not  have  come." 

"  To-night !  Gad,  now  I  recollect,  we  are  par- 
ticularly engaged  to-night.  But  to-morrow 
night " 

"Why,  look  ye,  Sir  George,"  exclaimed  Dori- 
court,  "it  is  very  plain  you  have  no  inclination  to 
let  me  see  your  wife  at  all.  So  here  I  sit."  He 
stretched  himself  at  full  length  on  the  sofa. 
"  There's  my  hat,  and  here  are  my  legs.  Now  I 
shan't  stir  till  I  have  seen  her,  and  I  have  no  en- 
gagements ;  I'll  breakfast,  dine,  and  sup  with  you 
every  day  this  week." 

While  Sir  George  stood  in  dismay,  endeavoring, 
by  making  an  open  confession  of  his  matrimonial 
relations,  to  induce  Doricourt  not  to  make  himself 
too  agreeable  to  the  susceptible  Lady  Frances,  a 
servant  appeared. 

"  Sir,  my  lady  desires "  he  began. 

"I  am  particularly  engaged,"  answered  Sir 
George,  shortly. 


THE  BELLE'S  STRATAGEM.  189 

"  That  shall  be  no  excuse  in  the  world,"  cried 
Doricourt,  springing  from  the  sofa.  "  Lead  the 
way,  John.  I'll  attend  your  lady." 

He  followed  the  servant  from  the  room,  leaving 
Sir  George  in  the  dilemma  of  the  fish  that  has 
been  suddenly  landed  from  the  frying-pan  into  the 
fire. 

The  poor  knight's  troubles  for  that  day  were 
by  no  means  ended.  As  he  stood  in  nervous  in- 
decision, Mrs.  Eackett  and  her  friend  Miss  Ogle 
were  announced,  and  asked  to  see  Lady  Frances. 
Ilere  was  a  chance  to  get  her  away  from  Dori- 
court. She  was  sent  for,  and  on  her  entrance 
was  warmly  greeted  by  her  visitors,  who  soon 
engaged  her  in  a  lively  conversation,  in  which 
they  laughed  at  her  homespun  ways,  and  invited 
her  to  go  with  them  to  an  exhibition  and  an 
auction.  Afterwards  they  would  take  a  turn  in 
the  Park,  drive  to  Kensington,  and  in  the  evening 
attend  Lady  Brilliant's  masquerade. 

This  promised  series  of  pleasures  set  the  young 
wife's  heart  in  a  flutter,  and  she  gladly  agreed 
to  accompany  them  if  Sir  George  had  no  engage- 
ments. At  this  remark  the  visitors  laughed  more 
heartily  than  ever,  ridiculing  her  for  her  lack 
of  independence,  and  on  Sir  George's  entrance 
told  him  that  they  were  going  to  rob  him  of  his 
wife  for  a  few  hours. 

"  Oh,  yes !"  said  Lady  Frances,  enthusiastically, 
"I  am  going  to  an  exhibition,  and  an  auction, 
and  the  Park,  and  Kensington,  and  a  thousand 


190  TALES   PROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

places.  It  is  quite  ridiculous,  I  find,  for  mar- 
ried people  to  be  always  together.  We  shall  be 
laughed  at." 

"I  am  astonished!"  exclaimed  Sir  George.  "Mrs. 
Eackett,  what  does  the  dear  creature  mean  ?" 

The  dear  creature's  meaning  was  plain  enough 
when  Mrs.  Eackett  had  got  through ;  and  so  was 
Sir  George's  when  he  had  plainly  expressed  his 
opinion  of  fashionable  society.  There  arose  a  strug- 
gle in  Lady  Frances's  heart  between  obedience  to 
her  husband  and  desire  for  pleasure,  which  was 
ended  by  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Flutter,  a  light- 
headed scandal-monger,  who  had  a  genius  for 
making  mischief.  He  was  not  a  minute  in  the 
room  before  he  had  let  out  a  secret  which  all  the 
town  had  laughed  at,  but  which  Sir  George  had 
sedulously  concealed  from  his  wife.  This  was 
that  Lady  Frances's  favorite  bullfinch,  which  she 
supposed  had  escaped  by  accident,  had  been  set 
free  by  her  husband,  whose  insane  jealousy  ex- 
tended  even  to  her  loving  attentions  to  her  bird. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?"  cried  Lady  Frances,  with  tears 
of  vexation  in  her  eyes.  "  Oh,  Sir  George,  how 
could  you  be  so  cruel  as  to  deprive  me  of  a 
creature  I  was  so  fond  of?" 

This  information  turned  the  tide  of  her  im- 
pulses. She  resolved  to  go,  telling  her  husband 
pettishly  that  she  was  not  content  to  be  treated 
like  a  child,  denied  what  she  wished,  and  then 
pacified  with  sweet  words. 

"  Go,  madam,"  he  exclaimed,  at  length  ;  "  give 


THE  BELLE'S  STRATAGEM.  191 

yourself  to  the  public ;  abandon  your  heart  to 
dissipation  ;  and  see  if,  in  the  scenes  of  gayety  and 
folly  that  await  you,  you  can  find  a  recompense 
for  the  lost  affection  of  a  doating  husband."  And 
he  left  the  room  in  strong  indignation. 

"  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart "  began  Lady 

Frances.  "  And  yet  I  won't  give  up,  either.  If 
I  should  in  this  instance,  he'll  expect  it  forever." 

"Now  you  act  like  a  woman  of  spirit,"  said 
Miss  Ogle,  approvingly. 

"A  fair  tug  between  duty  and  pleasure," 
laughed  Flutter.  "  Pleasure  beats,  and  off  we  go." 

Lady  Frances  lost  no  time  in  putting  her  reso- 
lution into  effect.  In  a  few  minutes  she  was  ready 
to  drive  off  with  her  visitors,  and  made  with 
them  the  round  of  the  exhibition  and  auction, 
where  her  lack  of  experience  got  her  into  trouble. 
For  she  found  herself  followed  and  rudely  stared 
at  by  Courtall,  a  man  of  libertine  reputation. 
Troubled  by  his  attentions,  she  turned  on  him 
severely,  and  told  him  that  she  was  a  married 
•woman,  a  piece  of  information  which  only  made 
him  the  more  persistent. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Eackett,  I  am  so  frightened !" 
exclaimed  Lady  Frances.  "  Here  is  a  man  making 
love  to  me,  though  he  knows  I  am  married." 

As  she  spoke  Courtall  stepped  up,  and  spoke 
familiarly  to  her  companions,  asking  Mrs.  Eackett 
if  she  would  be  at  the  masquerade. 

"  Yes,  I  go  with  Lady  Frances  here,"  she  an- 
swered. 


192  TALES  FROM  THE  DRAMATISTS. 

"  Bless  me !"  cried  Lady  Frances,  "  I  did  not 
know  this  gentleman  was  acquainted  with  Mrs. 
Eackett.  I  behaved  so  rudely  to  him."  And  in 
the  warmth  of  her  contrition,  she  fairly  invited 
him  to  accompany  them  to  Kensington. 

To  this,  however,  Mrs.  Eackett  would  not  listen, 
and  the  ladies  drove  off,  leaving  Courtall  to  in- 
dulge in  the  fancy  that  he  had  made  a  very  easy 
conquest.  Not  long  afterwards  he  met  Saville, 
who  had  been  a  lover  of  Lady  Frances  before  her 
marriage,  and  in  his  exultation  offered  to  wager 
that  he  would  make  love  to  that  lady  at  the 
masquerade,  and  fairly  carry  her  off  from  her 
husband.  This  wager  Saville  accepted,  in  his 
full  reliance  on  the  virtue  and  modesty  of  Lady 
Frances. 

Meanwhile  Letitia  Hardy  was  preparing  to 
carry  out  her  plot  against  the  cold  heart  of  Dori- 
court.  It  was  her  purpose  to  assume  the  charac- 
ter of  an  ignorant  and  untrained  hoiden,  with  an 
assurance  of  manner  the  very  reverse  of  her  late 
bashfulness.  Mrs.  Eackett  had  agreed  to  aid 
her  in  this  plot,  of  which  her  father  was  kept  in 
ignorance,  for  fear  that  he  might  reveal  it. 

Doricourt  had  promised  to  call,  and  on  his 
arrival  he  was  met  by  the  artful  widow,  who  took 
steps  to  prepare  him  for  Letitia's  defects  of  edu- 
cation, charging  her  with  conceit,  pertness,  and 
ignorance.  This  story  Doricourt  was  not  inclined 
to  believe,  saying  that  he  had  been  assured  that 
Miss  Hardy  was  elegant  and  accomplished.  "  But 


THE  BELLE'S  STRATAGEM.  193 

one  must  allow  for  a  lady's  painting,"  he  con- 
cluded. 

"Here  she  comes,"  said  Mrs.  Eackett.  "Her 
elegance  and  accomplishments  will  announce 
themselves." 

As  she  spoke  Letitia  ran  in,  exclaiming, — 

"  La,  cousin,  do  you  know  that  our  John 

Oh,  dear  heart!  I  didn't  see  you,  sir."  She 
hung  her  head,  and  affected  to  hide  behind  Mrs. 
Eackett. 

"  Fie,  Letitia,  you  are  not  afraid  of  M:.\  Dori- 
court  ?" 

"  But  he's  my  sweetheart,  and  it  is  impudent  to 
look  one's  sweetheart  in  the  face,  you  know." 

"  You  will  allow  in  future  for  a  lady's  painting, 
sir,"  laughed  Mrs.  Eackett. 

"I  am  astonished,"  answered  Doricourt,  look- 
ing askance  at  Letitia. 

"Well,  hang  it,  I'll  take  heart,"  said  Letitia, 
from  behind  Mrs.  Eackett,  but  in  a  tone  intended 
to  reach  his  ears.  "  He  is  but  a  man,  after  all, 
cousin,  and  I'll  let  him  see  I  wasn't  born  in  a 
wood  to  be  scared  by  an  owl."  She  advanced  to 
Doricourt,  making  an  awkward  courtesy.  "  1 
hear  you  have  been  a  great  traveller,  sir.  I  wish 
you'd  tell  us  all  about  the  fine  sights  you  saw 
when  you  went  over  sea." 

"  Don't  ask  him  foolish  questions,"  said  Mrs. 
Eackett. 

"  Hold  your  tongue !  Sure,  I  may  say  what  I 
please  before  I  am  married,  if  I  can't  afterwards. 
VOL.  I.— i  n  17 


194  TALES   PROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

D'ye  think  a  body  does  not  know  how  to  talk  to 
a  sweetheart  ?  He  is  not  the  first  I  have  had." 

"  Indeed !"  said  Doricourt. 

"  Oh,  lud  !  he  speaks.    Why,  if  you  must  know, 

there  was  the  curate,  at  home "     And  she 

rattled  on  with  a  lot  of  silly  statements  about 
her  love-affairs  that  quite  disgusted  her  elegant 
suitor. 

To  his  relief  the  conversation  was  soon  inter- 
rupted by  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Hardy,  who  stood 
aghast  on  hearing  the  flow  of  nonsense  that  came 
from  his  daughter's  lips. 

"  Mr.  Doricourt,"  he  exclaimed,  "  maybe  you 
take  my  daughter  to  be  a  fool,  but  you  are  mis- 
taken. She's  as  sensible  a  girl  as  any  in  Eng- 
land." 

"I  am  convinced  she  has  a  very  uncommon 
understanding,  sir,"  answered  Doricourt  in  bitter 
satire.  "  I  did  not  think  he  was  such  an  ass,"  he 
continued  to  himself. 

This  effort  of  her  father  to  destroy  the  effect 
of  her  plot  only  set  Letitia  off  in  a  greater  out- 
flow of  foolish  prattle  than  before,  till  the  poor 
man  fairly  capitulated  to  her  eloquent  absurdity. 

"  "What  think  you  of  my  painting  now  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Eackett,  after  Letitia  and  her  father  had 
gone  out. 

"  Mere  water-colors,  madam.  The  original  far 
surpasses  your  effort.  As  for  marrying  this  idiot, 
I  shall  first  fly  to  the  end  of  the  world,  or  seek 
the  other  world  at  the  end  of  a  pistol." 


THE  BELLE'S  STKATAQEM.  195 

"  Not  to-night,  at  any  rate,  Mr.  Doricourt.  You 
must  atteud  Mrs.  Brilliant's  masquerade,  where 
all  the  world  are  going.  If  you  are  resolved  to 
visit  the  other  world,  you  may  as  well  first  take 
one  night's  pleasure  in  this." 

"  Faith,  that's  true !  You  are  a  philosopher, 
Mrs.  Eackett.  Expect  me  at  the  masquerade." 

He  left  the  house  with  a  feeling  of  disenchant- 
ment concerning  his  affianced  bride,  saying  to 
himself  that  he  would  do  as  he  had  threatened 
rather  than  marry  such  a  woman.  After  he  had 
gone  Mr.  Hardy  returned,  and  was  appealed  to  by 
Mrs.  Eackett  not  to  interfere  in  his  daughter's 
plot. 

"Hang  me  if  I  don't,  though  !"  he  replied.  "I 
foresee  what  will  he  the  end  of  it,  if  I  leave  you  to 
yourselves.  If  you  two  choose  to  play  the  fool,  I 
won't  help  you,  and  I  shall  follow  Doricourt  to 
the  masquerade  and  tell  him  all  about  it."  And 
the  irate  father  left  the  house  to  procure  himself 
a  suitable  costume. 

We  must  now  step  a  few  hours  in  advance,  to 
the  scene  of  the  masquerade,  a  brilliant  affair,  in 
whose  motley  company  were  embraced  all  the 
characters  of  our  story,  including  even  Sir  George 
Touchwood,  who  had  been  induced  by  his  wife  to 
attend.  He  wore  a  pink  domino,  trimmed  with 
blue,  around  which  costume  a  complicated  intrigue 
had  gathered.  Courtall,  eager  to  win  his  wager 
from  Saville,  and  convinced  that  Lady  Frances 
was  not  to  be  won  by  the  usual  resources  of  the 


196  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

libertine,  had  formed  a  plot  to  deceive  her.  Learn- 
ing, through  Sir  George's  servants,  the  dress  he 
was  to  wear,  Courtall  had  obtained  one  like  it, 
designing  to  carry  her  off  disguised  as  her  hus- 
band. Unluckily  for  his  plot,  Saville  had  discov- 
ered it  and  arranged  a  counterplot.  He  brought 
to  the  masquerade  a  woman  named  Kitty  Willis, 
who  had  no  reputation  to  lose,  and  who  wore  the 
same  disguise  as  Lady  Frances,  whom  she  had 
agreed  to  personate. 

This  intrigue  may  be  first  disposed  of.  It  will 
suffice  to  say  that  Lady  Frances,  who,  inexperi- 
enced in  such  scenes,  was  at  first  charmed  by  the 
liveliness  and  brilliancy  of  the  spectacle,  became 
at  length  alarmed  by  the  warnings  of  one  dressed 
as  an  enchanter,  who  predicted  danger  in  a  solemn 
tone  that  frightened  her.  As  she  turned  in  haste 
to  seek  her  husband,  Courtall  entered,  dressed  like 
Sir  George,  and  suggested  that  they  should  leave 
at  once,  as  he  was  warm  and  tired.  Gaining  her 
assent,  he  left  the  room  to  order  the  carriage. 

The  instant  he  had  departed  the  conjurer  re- 
turned, leading  a  mask  in  the  same  dress  as  Lady 
Frances.  Leaving  her  at  the  side  he  advanced 
quickly  to  the  real  Lady  Frances,  and,  removing 
his  mask,  showed  the  features  of  Saville. 

"  Mr.  Saville !"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  did  not 
dream  it  was  you.  I  am  waiting  for  Sir  George, 
who  has  gone  for  the  carriage.  We  are  going 
home  immediately." 

"  You  are  deceived,  madam.     I  warned  you  of 


THE  BELLE'S  STRATAGEM.  197 

danger.  Sir  George  may  be  found  in  this  direc- 
tion." 

"  "What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Saville  ?" 

"Be  not  alarmed;  you  have  escaped  a  snare, 
and  shall  be  in  safety  in  a  minute." 

She  accompanied  him,  clinging  in  affright  to  his 
arm.  They  had  scarcely  left  the  room  when 
Courtall  returned,  and,  seeing  the  counterfeit 
Lady  Frances,  seized  her  hand  and  bade  her  come 
at  once.  She  obeyed  without  hesitation,  though 
the  seemingly  successful  libertine  would  have  felt 
much  less  triumphant  had  he  seen  the  laughing 
face  behind  the  mask. 

Meanwhile  Doricourt  had  found  a  still  more 
cogent  reason  than  her  seeming  ignorance  and  folly 
for  detesting  his  betrothal  to  Miss  Hardy.  In 
short,  he  had  met  a  masked  lady  of  such  seeming 
grace  and  beauty,  and  whose  conversation  dis- 
played such  wit  and  spirit,  that  his  fancy  was 
strangely  taken  prisoner.  She  danced  a  minuet 
with  him,  and  by  her  grace  of  movement  threw 
still  stronger  chains  about  his  heart. 

"  She  dances  divinely !"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  Who  can  she  be  ?  Somebody  must  know  her, 
and  I  am  bound  to  learn." 

Shortly  afterwards  he  met  Saville,  and  described 
the  lady,  but  his  friend  could  give  him  no  infor- 
mation. 

"  But  why  are  you  seeking  strange  charmers  ?" 
he  asked.  "  Where  is  Miss  Hardy  ?" 

"  Not  here,  Mrs.  Eackett  says.  Thank  Heaven 
17* 


198  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

for  that !  Do  you  know,  Saville,  I  have  been 
frightfully  disenchanted  ?  The  creature  is  almost 
an  idiot." 

"  What  ?" 

"  You  should  hear  her !  What  the  deuce  shall 
I  do  ?  Faith,  I  think  I  shall  feign  myself  mad, — 
and  then  Hardy  may  be  ready  to  break  off  the 
engagement." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  answered 
Saville,  in  perplexity.  "  You  are  mad  now,  I  fear. 
But  I  must  leave  you  to  dream  of  your  mysterious 
stranger." 

Doricourt  stood  musing  after  Saville  had  left, 
revolving  in  his  mind  his  new  idea  of  feigning 
madness,  and  so  lost  in  his  thoughts  that  he  failed 
to  heed  what  went  on  about  him. 

"  You  have  chosen  an  odd  situation  for  study," 
said  a  voice  at  his  elbow.  "  Fashion  and  taste 
preside  at  this  spot.  They  seek  to  throw  their 
delightful  spells  around  you.  Yet  here  you  stand 
like  a  stoic,  wrapped  in  sober  reflection." 

He  turned,  to  behold  the  unknown  mask  who 
had  so  strangely  attracted  him. 

"And  you,  the  most  charming  being  in  the 
world,  bring  me  back  to  reason  and  admiration. 
From  what  star  have  you  come  ?" 

A  lively  chat  succeeded,  in  which  the  witty  un- 
known held  her  own  with  a  spirit  that  surpassed 
his.  In  the  end  he  grew  bold,  begged  for  a  kiss, 
and  attempted  to  remove  her  mask.  She  fled  at 
this,  he  in  close  pursuit. 


THE  BELLE'S  STRATAGEM.  199 

u  By  heaven,  I  never  was  charmed  till  now !"  he 
exclaimed.  "  English  beauty — French  vivacity — 
wit — elegance !  Tell  me  your  name,  my  angel,  if 
you  will  not  let  me  see  your  face." 

"To-morrow  you  shall  be  satisfied,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"To-morrow!     Where?    At  what  hour?" 

"  You  shall  see  me  when  and  where  you  least 
expect.  Adieu,  now.  Stir  not  a  step.  If  I  am 
followed  you  will  never  see  me  more." 

And  the  mysterious  charmer  flitted  away,  leav- 
ing Doricourt  more  nearly  in  love  than  he  had 
ever  been  in  his  life  before. 

As  she  passed  from  the  room,  Flutter  and  Mr. 
Hardy  entered  by  the  same  door.  Doricourt  ran 
hastily  to  the  light-brained  know-all. 

"Oh,  Flutter!"  he  cried,  "tell  me,  you  who 
know  everybody,  who  is  that  charming  creature  ?" 

"  What  charming  creature  ?  I  have  met  a 
thousand." 

"  She  went  out  at  that  door,  as  you  entered." 

"  Oh,  she, — I  know  her  well.  A  beauty  of  very 
easy  virtue.  She  is  kept  by  Lord  George  Jennett." 

"  Kept !     Good  heaven  !" 

"  Flutter  is  mistaken,"  said  Mr.  Hardy,  pressing 
forward.  "  I  know  who  you  are  in  love  with. 
The  lady  you  admire  is " 

"  Your  daughter,  I  suppose,"  answered  Dori- 
court, haughtily.  "  You  know  the  state  of  my 
affections  better  than  I  do  myself,  sir.  But  it  is 
too  soon  to  assume  the  father-in-law,  and  rebuke 


200     .  TALES  FROM  THE   DRAMATISTS. 

me  as  a  wanderer  in  heart."  And  he  angrily 
strode  from  the  room. 

"Very  well,  my  wise  youth,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Hardy,  in  hot  pique.  "  You  won't  let  me  tell 
you,  then !  Hang  me  if  I  don't  plot  with  Letty 
now,  and  not  against  her !  You  need  to  be  taught 
a  lesson,  my  hasty  young  gentleman." 

The  masquerade  ended  without  Doricourt  heing 
able  to  gain  a  further  glimpse  of  the  charming 
unknown.  Indeed,  Flutter's  assurance  had  so 
cooled  his  flame,  and  thrown  him  into  such  per- 
plexity, that  he  was  for  the  time  not  sure  whether 
it  would  be  better  to  go  mad,  marry  the  rustic 
Letitia,  or  shoot  himself. 

The  masquerade  had  developed  a  brace  of  in- 
trigues, of  which  we  must  first  dispose  of  the 
lesser.  Courtall,  full  of  anticipated  triumph  over 
Saville,  and  addition  to  his  fame  as  a  man  of 
gallantry,  had  borne  off  the  counterfeit  Lady 
Frances  to  his  lodgings.  But  hardly  had  he  un- 
masked, and  attempted  to  soothe  the  seemingly 
frightened  beauty,  when  Saville,  Flutter,  and  a 
number  of  others  broke  in  upon  him. 

He  hastily  concealed  his  prize,  laughed  at 
Saville  for  losing  his  bet,  and  was  in  the  midst  of 
his  declarations  of  triumph,  when  Flutter. opened 
the  closet  in  which  the  woman  had  been  hidden, 
drew  her  out,  and  tore  off  her  mask. 

Courtall  stood  looking  at  the  revealed  face  in 
stupefied  amazement,  while  the  others  burst  into 
shouts  of  laughter. 


THE  BELLE'S  STRATAGEM.  201 

"Kitty  Willis!  Ha!  ha!  ha!"  they  shouted. 
"A  lady  of  quality!  An  earl's  daughter!  ha! 
ha !  ha  !  Oh,  Courtall,  you  will  kill  us !" 

"Ten  thousand  furies  seize  you!"  yelled  the 
discomfited  libertine.  "  Leave  my  rooms !" 

"As  you  wish,  Courtall.  We  won't  speak  of 
this,  of  course.  But  the  next  time  you  carry  off 
a  lady  from  a  ballroom,  do  look  under  her  mask." 

"  The  foul  fiend  take  you  all !"  cried  Courtall. 
"  I'll  set  off  for  Paris  directly,  before  I  am  laughed 
out  of  London." 

He  was  correct  in  supposing  that  the  story 
would  soon  get  abroad.  It  was  the  laugh  of 
fashionable  London  the  next  day,  and  quickly 
reached  the  ears  of  Sir  George  and  his  wife.  It 
affected  them  differently.  Sir  George  sought 
Courtall,  with  the  intention  of  punishing  him, 
but  he  had  already  set  out  for  France.  As  for 
Lady  Frances,  she  was  thoroughly  cured  of  her 
predilection  for  a  fashionable  life. 

"  One  lesson  of  this  kind  is  enough,"  she  de- 
clared. "  Henceforward,  my  dear  Sir  George,  you 
shall  be  my  constant  companion  and  protector. 
And  when  the  world  laughs  at  us  as  unfashion- 
able monsters,  our  mutual  happiness  will  take  all 
the  sting  from  the  satire." 

"  My  angel !  You  almost  reconcile  me  to 
Courtall,"  declared  the  happy  Sir  George. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  affair  of  Doricourt  and  his 
betrothed,  a  double  stratagem  was  impending. 
The  encounter  of  the  night  before  had  quite  com- 


202  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

pleted  the  work  which  Miss  Hardy's  affected 
rusticity  had  begun.  Doricourt,  while  not  mad 
enough  to  think  of  marrying  the  mistress  of  a 
man  of  fashion,  had  conceived  a  feeling  so  closely 
approaching  love  at  first  sight  for  the  masked 
beauty,  that  the  projected  match  with  Miss  Hardy 
had  grown  doubly  distasteful.  But  to  throw 
overboard  a  fortune  of  eighty  thousand  pounds 
was  another  matter,  and,  in  default  of  a  better 
scheme,  he  determined  to  carry  out  his  idea  of 
pretended  madness,  with  the  hope  of  inducing 
Mr.  Hardy  to  break  off  the  match. 

This  scheme  was  approved  by  Saville,  to  whom 
he  spoke  of  it  the  next  morning.  Shortly  after- 
wards Flutter  called,  and  Doricourt  tried  his 
plan  of  madness  on  him  with  such  effect  that  the 
poor  fellow  was  scared  half  out  of  his  wits.  He 
escaped  from  the  room  with  all  haste,  leaving  the 
conspirators  satisfied  that,  within  an  hour,  their 
news-distributor  would  spread  the  story  far  and 
wide. 

While  Doricourt  was  preparing  this  plot,  the 
Hardys  had  put  another  in  train.  The  wedding 
was  not  to  have  taken  place  for  a  week  or  more, 
but,  through  fear  that  Letty  could  not  keep  up 
her  character  of  a  fool  so  long,  it  was  deemed 
advisable  to  hasten  the  happy  occasion.  The 
conspirators  decided,  after  consultation,  that  Mr. 
Hardy  should  feign  illness,  surround  himself  with 
medicines,  paint  his  face  of  a  cadaverous  hue, 
and  send  word  to  Doricourt  that  he  had  suddenly 


THE  BELLE'S  STRATAGEM.  203 

been  prostrated  with  a  dangerous  sickness,  was 
on  the  point  of  death,  and  could  not  go  out  of  the 
world  in  peace  till  he  had  seen  his  daughter  safely 
married. 

The  situation  had  now  become  a  very  compli- 
cated one.  On  the  one  hand  Doricourt  professing 
madness  to  escape  marriage  with  a  fool ;  on  the 
other  Miss  Hardy  playing  the  fool  to  pique  him 
out  of  his  indifference ;  and,  to  sum  all,  her  father 
playing  the  dying  man  to  hurry  up  the  wedding. 

The  tidings  of  Doricourt's  madness  and  Hardy's 
illness  soon  reached  the  ears  it  was  intended  for. 

"  So  ill  as  that !"  exclaimed  Doricourt  to  Saville. 
"  I'm  very  sorry  to  hear  that.  He  is  a  worthy 
fellow,  even  if  a  little  annoying." 

'•  "Well,  you  must  go  and  take  leave." 

""What!  Act  the  lunatic  in  a  dying  man's 
chamber?" 

"  Just  the  thing :  his  last  commands  will  be 
that  you  are  not  to  marry  his  daughter." 

"  True !  Yet,  hang  it,  I  don't  like  to  impose 
upon  a  man  at  so  serious  a  moment.  And  then  I 
will  have  to  encounter  Eackett.  She's  an  arch 
little  creature,  and  will  discover  the  cheat." 

"  Here's  a  fellow  !  Cheated  ninety-nine  women, 
and  now  afraid  of  the  hundredth !" 

"And  with  reason, — for  the  hundredth  is  a 
widow." 

Doricourt  proved  to  be  correct  in  his  fear  of 
Mrs.  Eackett's  penetration.  When  he  reached 
Mr.  Hardy's  bouse,  and  tried  his  madness  upon 


204  TALES   FROM  THE  DRAMATISTS. 

the  widow,  he  found  himself  heartily  laughed  at 
for  his  pains. 

"  I  could  do  it  ten  times  better  than  you,"  de- 
clared Mrs.  Eackett. — "  There  !  There  she  is  1 
Now  I  have  her !— Ha !  ha !  ha !" 

"  I'll  leave  the  house,"  exclaimed  Doricourt,  in 
confusion. 

"  Noi  till  you  have  seen  the  dying  Mr.  Hardy. 
You  must  grant  his  desire  for  a  minute's  conver- 
sation, even  though  you  should  persist  in  your 
cruel  wish  to  send  him  miserable  to  his  grave." 

Doricourt,  with  a  mind  very  far  from  being  at 
ease,  consented.  It  proved  a  dangerous  consent 
for  him.  The  surroundings  of  the  sick-room,  the 
skilful  acting  of  Mr.  Hardy,  the  memory  of  his 
own  father's  ardent  wish,  the  pathetic  appeal  of 
the  apparently  dying  invalid,  so  worked  on  his 
susceptible  fancy  that  tears  came  to  his  eyes,  and 
he  impulsively  agreed  that  the  marriage  should 
take  place. 

"  Make  haste,"  he  exclaimed.  "  If  I  have  time 
to  reflect,  poor  Hardy  will  die  unhappy." 

The  clergyman  was  present,  and  performed  the 
ceremony  so  expeditiously  that  the  deceived  bride- 
groom had  not  a  moment's  time  for  thought. 
Before  he  fairly  knew  it  himself  he  was  a  mar- 
ried man,  tied  for  life  to  one  whom  he  believed  to 
be  little  better  than  an  idiot. 

Reflection  came  afterwards, — and  with  it  re- 
morse. When  Doi-icourt  reached  the  room  where 
the  remainder  of  his  friends  were  assembled,  he 


THE  BELLE'S  STRATAGEM.  205 

was  perhaps  the  most  melancholy  bridegroom  who 
had  ever  breathed  London  air.  . 

Yet  he  had  not  reached  his  lowest  depth  of 
despair.  As  he  stood  there  conversing,  with  a 
gloomy  effort  at  resignation,  a  masked  lady  en- 
tered the  room,  at  the  sight  of  whom  he  started 
as  if  he  had  really  gone  mad.  It  was  the  mys- 
terious charmer  of  the  masquerade. 

"  I  told  you  that  you  should  see  me  when  and 
where  you  least  expected,"  she  said.  "  I  am  here 
to  keep  my  promise." 

"  Madam,"  said  Saville,  "  you  have  arrived  at  a 
happy  moment.  Mr.  Doricourt  is  just  married." 

"  Married !  after  swearing  eternal  love  to  me, 
and  winning  my  guileless  heart !" 

"  I  knew  you  not  then,"  declared  Doricourt,  in 
torture  of  soul.  "  I  learned  too  much  afterwards. 
The  companion  of  Lord  George  Jennett " 

"  "What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?"  she  indignantly  re- 
plied. "Do  you  desire  to  add  insult  to  injury  ? 
To  excuse  your  broken  vows " 

"  Rascal !"  interrupted  Doricourt,  speaking  to 
Flutter.  "  You  told  me.  Is  she  not " 

"  Who,  she  ?  Why,  it  was  quite  a  different  per- 
son I  meant.  I  never  saw  this  lady  before,"  pro- 
tested Flutter. 

This  was  too  much  for  poor  Doricourt.  He 
seized  Flutter  and  shook  him  so  violently  that  the 
others  had  to  tear  him  off,  lest  he  should  do  the 
miserable  tale-bearer  an  injury. 

The  distressed  Benedict  was  not  yet  at  the  end 
18 


206  TALES   FROM   THE   DRAMATISTS. 

of  his  surprises.  In  the  midst  of  his  assault  on 
Flutter,  Mr.  Hardy  entered,  in  nightcap  and 
gown,  and  exclaimed, — 

"  This  is  too  much.  You  are  now  the  husband 
of  my  daughter !  How  dare  you  show  all  this 
passion  about  another  woman  ?" 

"  You  here !     Alive  !"  cried  Doricourt. 

"  And  merry  as  a  cricket,"  laughed  Hardy. 
"  Here,  wipe  the  flour  from  my  face.  Why,  my 
illness  was  but  a  trick,  man,  to  make  you  marry 
Letty." 

"  Base  and  ungenerous  man !  Well,  you  have 
gained  your  wish, — and  may  keep  your  daughter. 
I  shall  leave  England  this  night,  never  to  return. 
But,  dear  lady,  grant  me  the  favor  which  you 
refused  last  night.  Let  me  see  your  face,  that  in 
my  exile  I  shall  have  that  much  consolation  in  my 
lonely  hours." 

"  This  is  the  most  awful  moment  of  my  life," 
answered  the  lady.  "  Oh,  Doricourt,  the  taking 
off  of  my  mask  will  make  me  the  most  blessed  or 
most  miserable  of  women." 

"What  can  you  mean?  Reveal  your  face,  I 
pray  you." 

«  Behold  it,  then." 

She  removed  the  mask  as  she  spoke,  and  re- 
vealed to  the  agitated  man  the  well-known  features 
of — Letitia  Hardy. 

" You ?— Letitia ?  Oh,  what  rapture!  You? 
Can  it  be  possible  ?" 

"  You  would  not  love  me  as  I  was,  Doricourt ; 


THE  BELLE'S  STRATAGEM.  207 

and  you  fairly  hated  me  as  I  assumed  to  be. 
You  finally  fell  in  love  with  me  as  somebody  else ; 
— shall  I  keep  that  love,  as  nobody  but  your  plain, 
but  devoted,  English  wife  ?" 

"  You  shall  be  nothing  but  yourself.  You  could 
not  be  half  so  captivating  in  any  other  character. 
There  is  henceforth  but  one  woman  in  the  world 
for  me, — and  that  is  my  own  dear  wife." 

"  Come  into  the  next  room,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Hardy.  "  I  have  ordered  out  every  drop  of  my 
forty-eight ;  and  I'll  invite  the  whole  parish  of 
St.  George's  but  we'll  drink  it  out  to  the  happy 
success  of — the  Belle's  Stratagem." 


END    OF    VOL.    I. 


DATE  DUE 


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